Glance of Love
by tkelparis
Summary: One chance look shared on the night before the ill-fated wedding day drew a pair of dueling lovers together... a bit earlier. Thus altering the lives of those around them as well. Inspired by the 2011 performance, and written for sykira's birthday.
1. Sigh No More, Ladies

**Title**: Glance of Love

**Genre**: Much Ado About Nothing (2011 performance)

**Rating**: M (really T, but with two chapters rated M – one for paranoia, the other with... more cause)

**Pairings**: Bendick/Beatrice, Claudio/Hero

**Summary**: One chance look shared on the night before the ill-fated wedding day drew a pair of dueling lovers together... a bit earlier. Thus altering the lives of those around them as well.

**Dedication**: To Shakespeare for writing the play. To the people who arranged to put on the amazing performance, to Digital Theatre for putting out a download, and – most of all – David Tennant and Catherine Tate for the silent exchange that inspired this fic – as shown in links on my LJ page. (Head there to see the moment - unless I get the story icon to work...)

**Disclaimer**: I didn't have the money to see this in person. So I own nothing except this idea. :( And a copy of the Digital Theatre download. :D

**Author's Note**: Title is a play on the song that was playing as this moment happened. My muse is a definite minx for coming up with this... and a few other MAAN-based ideas. :D

This would probably make more sense if you've seen that MAAN production, but I wrote it with the aim of trying to make things clear to any reader. Still, I know my peeps who had the great fortune to get tickets and see the play – or fans like me who had to wait for the Digital Theatre download – will get every last reference I make to the performance itself. I suppose this is also for the fans who either can't afford to get the download and the ones whose computers can't make it work – every Doctor/Donna fan should get to see this play.

Readers, this is the result of being an unrepentant Doctor/Donna fangirl, adoring the dynamic Tennant and Tate have in anything they do, and having an imagination that went into overactive squeegasm madness over several moments I refer to. :D Heck, spoiler footage of The Kiss powered me to reach NaNo winner status in under fifteen days. That and an Internet blackout at my house that prevented me from watching it over and over again. :D

Happy Birthday, sykira! I thought about writing the Trope sequel, which I know you've been waiting for since before I first published Doctor/Donna smut, but I thought you might like this even better. Hope I was right. :D Don't fret – I will finish that story one day. :DDDDDDD Oh, and did I mention there might be an MAAN fic for Christmas for you, if you like of me? ;DDDDDDD

* * *

**Glance of Love**

**Started August 10, 2012**

**Finished September 6, 2012**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Sigh No More, Ladies**

The celebrations before the wedding of the daughter of the Governor of Messina to the Count Claudio of Florence had begun. It was difficult to find people who were not sharing in the excitement and gaiety of the night.

Difficult, but not impossible. Three were most decidedly _not_ feeling the delight.

One was plotting to ruin the event and the lives of several people connected to it. The other two were struggling with respective revelations about their own feelings – each deceived into discovering their own truths.

* * *

Beatrice trailed behind the rest of the bridal party. Margaret might have already indulged in some drinking, given her extreme state of ecstasy over getting to set the plans for Hero's night before her marriage. Evidently, Imogen had agreed to it because she felt it would prepare her innocent daughter for the variety of aspects of marriage – particularly the preparation to lay with her soon-to-be husband.

Normally, Beatrice would have taken great pleasure in pointing out – rather forcefully – the ways that the male who would 'perform' for them was lacking. (Never mind that he was almost certain to _not_ be attracted to women.) She considered herself the voice of reason, guarding women and their right to choose how to lead their lives. They were at such a disadvantage in the eyes of the law, which considered them at the mercy of the most powerful male in their life. Be it their father, husband, son, nephew, or – in her case – uncle.

Beatrice was painfully aware of her situation. Orphaned at a young age, she was taken into Leonato's house and raised almost as his own child. He had guardianship of her and her fortunes. His aim was to see her 'fitted with a husband' and had no care as to how she might feel about that. Had he not seen how arbitrary male rule was? How much womanly wisdom was being suppressed – even within his own house? She had seen how her aunt had considerable intelligence, and chose to give in so many times to her husband's choices – even when she _saw_ his choices were not the right ones.

She would not subject herself to such rule. She was determined ever since her father left this world to use her intelligence and wit to keep all suitors away. If that labeled her a 'shrew' then so be it. And she would do everything she could to protect Hero – the younger cousin whom she considered a sister – from such a fate. Although all she could do was encourage her to resist suitors.

It did not help her cause to see that even her cousin was tiring of her justifiable arguments against marriage. The same topic was raised the night Hero became engaged to the Count – and she feared that her cousin had rushed into the match. She thought that the Count should have argued his own case – it would have spared her cousin the fear of having to risk her father's extreme displeasure if the prince actually was intending to ask for Hero's hand.

Who knew that he would ask Beatrice herself instead?

That was the most awkward moment of her life. She'd laughed, sure he had to be joking. Surely the prince could not want a known 'shrew' as his bride. But his silence had proved otherwise. She had to make a joke out of her refusal, although she suspected she had gone too far with her humour. She had not needed to see the disappointment and embarrassment on her uncle and aunt's faces to know that. Don Pedro had seemed genuinely hurt, although he made a respectable effort to take it with humour. She had never before been grateful to her uncle for 'asking' her to do something that actually did not need doing – it gave her a graceful way out of the awkward moment.

The world would very likely call her a fool for refusing him. He was rich and he clearly enjoyed her intelligence, wit, and spirit. And he genuinely liked her, possibly even had fallen for her.

But she lacked something critical from him, and he from her. He could not see the truth of either.

She lacked the knowledge that he truly respected her and would treat her as an equal in spite of the law being on his side. Without that, how could she enter into marriage?

As for what he lacked? Her heart. She would not even entertain the thought of marrying a man she did not love. So she was determined to not wed or be wed.

_Once_, a few years earlier, she had thought there was a man who fit what some considered her impossible standards and wishes. He had openly respected her intelligence and wit, engaged both in conversation and debate, plainly admired her beauty, treated her with respect, and touched her heart.

Unfortunately, Signior Benedick of Padua shared a critical fault with other men. He made assumptions about what she wanted, did not ask her first, and she had reacted on instinct – snapping at him.

That had driven them into what her uncle called their 'merry war' whenever they met. Now their wits tried to out-match each other every time, and he was willing to pull the man's prerogative of deciding when to stop the match. A jade's trick, she considered it. It angered her every time, and provoked her to leave with a parting shot. One day, she aimed to prod his pride into forcing him into responding, thus continuing the match.

He had proved true to form when they met the previous afternoon, ending their verbal sparring match early. She could never understand it since he always met her opening challenges with a rivaling wit, and was happy enough to clink glasses or lager cans as to salute the opening volleys of their matches. But when he sat down and ended their match before she could rejoin his words about wishing his horse had the speed of her tongue, she had barely kept the venom from spilling over when she pushed up her glasses and leaned down to warn him how she knew 'him of old'. She might have got a reaction – he did tense just a bit at her mention of the 'jade's trick' – had Don Pedro not made his own announcement. Thus she left the room, vowing revenge.

So when she was certain she had spotted him in 'woman's' dress at the reveling, she had gladly let him approach her and let him have it – letting him think she didn't know who he was until she appeared with Claudio, and recovered quickly from being called a 'harpy'. (She supposed it was partly because that insult was a compliment of sorts to her beauty, whether Benedick had intended that or not.) His leaving in a speechless huff when she refused to act insulted by being called 'my lady tongue' had been quite the sight, and she was not sorry for it.

This afternoon, she had her assumptions ripped away. Hero's waiting gentlewoman, Margaret, had showed a spot of solidarity with her in how women were not given the choices they deserved. She had let her know about a conversation her mother, Ursula, was having with Hero – all about her, Beatrice. The effort to hear their conference had shown her how little she was respected by the household. How else could she explain her becoming caught in one of the painter's lines? Someone had done it deliberately, known she was there. And she heard just how awful her reputation truly was – Hero was not one to exaggerate, and Ursula was known for plain speech.

Only the household's lack of respect for her – aside from her unquestioned loyalty to her cousin and her family – would have bothered Beatrice and left her furious. The reputation would not have left a mark on her soul. She had practice not letting it concern her.

Except Hero and Ursula had dropped the greatest shock of her life: Benedick was well-nigh dead with love for her.

Had she been hurting him all this time by taking stabs at his looks? His wit? His skill as a soldier?

It had waked her to another reality. She had loved him with all her heart since before the day that started their war. It was why she had always challenged him whenever they met. It was impossible to deny that when her efforts to remain calm after vowing that she would requite his feelings and letting her 'wild heart' be tamed by his 'loving hand' failed so completely. She had screamed for joy and run to her room.

Now time and reason had returned. They left her filled with uncertainty and unease. How could she gracefully change her public stance? Having railed so much against marriage, how could she make a change that would sit well with her conscience and grant her heart's – and Benedick's – desire?

It left her nervous, barely able to eat the dinner her aunt had put on for the bridal party. At the private club, Hero and her attendants and female relatives would be 'treated' to all sorts of events that were meant to help her feel better prepared. Hero was a bit shaky, but smiling as she put on the veil that Margaret had placed before her.

The fool had suggested a red veil, but Hero would not consider it. It was too extreme for her, too wanton for her preferences. Beatrice had agreed – a woman's reputation was a brittle thing, and the wrong word could stab her just as thoroughly as a sword could run a man through.

Did Benedick understand that? She felt he had the reason and wisdom to listen, but could his pride as a man and a soldier permit him to accept such a stance?

Beatrice did not know. She was not sure if she could approach him. But she had to figure out a way to give him a sign that she was receptive. What could she do or say? And how could she repair any damage she had done with mocking him? Including today, when he had acted like a grinning idiot when the prince and her uncle sent her to summon him in to dinner. Now it made sense in a way if he was so far gone for her, but what had let his guard down?

So it was with a heavy mind and a heavier heart that she followed Ursula, who once again had to remove an ill-fitting shoe.

_She did not realize the party was passing by the spot where the men had gathered._


	2. Seals of Love

**Author's Note: **And one comment from sykira over on LJ told me I hit the jackpot with writing this story. Made it all worthwhile. :D Continue enjoying.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Seals of Love**

A soldier had many expectations thrust upon him, from many different directions. There was your family, if you had any left, and their traditions of service to support you or place wanted pressure on your shoulders. There was your community or city, which had numerous traditions of its own which it expected you to uphold. Comrades-in-arms were another source of pressure – you were compared with them or you compared yourself with them. And then there were your commanders – the men whose discernment your future might depend upon.

Benedick of Padua was well-acquainted with all of those pressures, and meeting them with either humor or – on _rare_ occasions – deadly accurate aim with his weapons. He considered himself a merry man, ready to meet tension with a well-directed quip or comment. Might he also be considered a fool? Only if they did not know him or his record of service under the command of Don Pedro.

He had nothing to prove as a man. He had his men's respect. He had his fellow lieutenants' respect, and he had earned great favor from Don Pedro, who could still do much for him and his future.

He sat himself in the bar where Leonato had brought Don Pedro, Claudio, and the other officers for a merry night. He watched as Claudio joked with the others, including Boracchio, one of Don John's trusted men. Benedick eyed him with a weary eye – the man was a soldier of some skill but he had the air of a man who enjoyed spreading mischief where it did not belong. Benedick would not trust him near any female of his family.

The morrow was Claudio's wedding to the daughter and sole heir of Leonato: the Lady Hero. Did Benedick have any cause for displeasure from the event? No, he had every reason to believe Hero to be virtuous and wise. She would make a good wife for Claudio.

If she could tame Claudio's impetuous streak. The man was awful in leaping to a conclusion without evidence, or merely upon the word of another man of rank. He had seen it happen in war, and only his own judgment and advice had prevented a disaster. Claudio had the glory of the day, but Don Pedro was aware that the true leader of victory was the less dramatic Benedick.

Benedick did not want the attention that the younger Claudio thrived upon. He was content with simple praise and a well-earned reward. It had given him a strong footing for the rest of his life, should he need to cease being a solider.

Of course, he was from a wealthy family and thus expected to marry. To ensure the bloodline continued even though he was not the eldest son.

No. Not Benedick. Every woman his family or town had presented to him, or he had been presented with on his journeys as a soldier, had bored him within minutes. He despised the custom for a woman to be utterly deferential to a man. He loved a challenge to his mind, to his wit. He thrived on it. A meek woman would drive him mad within a week, at best.

He enjoyed the freedom of being a bachelor. He had no one who depended upon him other than his men. He simply did not see a woman who tempted him.

He truly believed that. Until this morning.

He had been partaking of a fizzy drink to help with the hangover he had from the night before, from the reveling Leonato held. Benedick had enjoyed the night... until he tried to provoke the Lady Beatrice. He had been sure she had not known who he was when he joked in a falsetto voice about her wit and manner, but later on he realized that she might have known all along. That would have been bad enough, but she had called him 'the prince's jester.' If her words were right, she had a very poor opinion of his character, wit, and even his humor. He had been angry, and determined to get revenge somehow – until even Don Pedro seemed against him and for Beatrice.

He had indulged in some additional drinking after that, seeking to forget. Especially the need to flee rather than cope with such an offensive moment. But it was hard to forget so deep an affront.

It did take away from seeing a man who had laughed at the shallow follies of a man in love making an utter fool of himself. Claudio needed to speak for himself in personal matters. He had not been taught well in that. Of course, what man was? The man who was most assured when talking with women tended to be the worst sort. With rare exceptions.

But his drinking was more to lessen the sting of Beatrice's words. He had not been able to turn down her challenge in mocking why he was still talking – her words were always a challenge to his wit, and he had been drawn in... every time. Such wit in a woman was something that captured his attention when they met. Never had he found such a welcome rival who did not mock with the cheap jests that men were want to use.

But she never liked when he ended their verbal sparring. Saying his choosing when to end them was a jade's trick?! It was all he could do to keep silent, but hearing her voice almost in his ear about how she knew him? Had Don Pedro not made his announcement, he would have snapped an answer at her after whipping his sunglasses off. Indeed, it was that indignation that drove him to bump into her during the dancing, and pretend to not be himself to engage her wit in ways to earn his revenge.

Look how well that turned out. He endured humiliation in front of his lord, and very likely made her argument appear to have substance to it.

Hangovers never made for pleasant moments, but he never stopped thinking – even lying on the ground, relying on a pillar to help him recover. Fizzy drink still in hand, Benedick had mused aloud about the transformation love made a man endure – thinking especially of Claudio. He doubted that he himself would be turned into an oyster by love – at least not until all graces were in one woman.

He even speculated about what such a woman would be like for him. His station in life demanded she be rich, his intelligence wanted wit in a woman, wisdom or she would not be suitable for running a household, fair because a man needed to like to look on the woman he took to wife, and virtuous – a man was a fool to take a woman to wife who was not a maiden. He had casually added ideas, speculating because it seemed safe to do so.

Until his tongue ran ahead of his mind on one detail: 'And her hair shall be red-" He caught himself, amended it to the air and the heavens: "...of what colour it please God."

But the damage had been done. It sounded too like Lady Beatrice – who he had liked well enough when they first met until she shouted at him for something he did not understand. Ever since, he had considered the woman – who he, as a man, considered as _fact_ that she was her cousin's superior in beauty – his enemy off the battlefield.

His day had gone from bad to worse when he had to hide from Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. First he had to endure the bad singing of Balthazar, then he got distracted in mocking the performance (certain he was unseen) and his hand fell into a container of wet white paint. He had been trying to figure out how to get it off him, aware his mind was not working as well as it normally did, when Don Pedro asked Leonato for confirmation that 'your niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick?'

In retrospect, he was lucky to not be noticed given the paint tins he knocked over from hearing that. Because he had _had_ to get closer to hear more – he needed to hear what proof they had. And it distracted him to the point where he accidentally spread the paint _all_ over him.

Bad enough that the Boy had not forgotten his book. Or that he had to keep moving away to avoid being seen as the trio moved around the outer areas to continue their conversation. But the conclusion reached was horrifying: Lady Beatrice was so convinced that he would mock her if she made her love known that she was at risk of doing 'a desperate outrage to herself.'

Given the delicate nature of her situation, trying to avoid a bad marriage or dealing with scorn from the object of her affections might make death seem an acceptable alternative.

Once they left, Benedick had tried to convince himself that he simply had to love her back, that it would be cruel of him to not. That belief that he would come to be horribly in love with her had lasted past her coming out to summon him to dinner. He had been sure that she was engaging in their common double-meaning discussions, and she was simply so frustrated that she had let it slip that she wished to stay out with him.

Now, sitting at a table by himself, he found himself reflecting on what the revelations really meant to him. A few uncomfortable truths became frighteningly apparent.

First, the source of the growing irritation that his comrades-in-arms had noticed in him toward women had a plain source. He had failed to drum up the interest in many of the activities his fellow bachelors enjoyed. Particularly what was politely called the sowing of wild oats. Now, unlike his fellow bachelors, he made _absolutely certain_ that his... dalliances could not possibly fall on fertile soil – his honour would have demanded that he look after any resulting children, and he had seen the problems inherent all thanks to Don Pedro's family. And within his own male relatives.

But for over five years he had lacked the desire to seek any such activities out. Which meant he had been drifting towards seeking marriage – which to his soul meant _complete_ fidelity and ceasing all types of dalliances – for longer than he cared to think.

Next, he probably made an absolute fool of himself in front of Beatrice earlier. Perhaps she had not been impressed with the pain covering him, messing his hair, clothes, and skin. She might have been mocking his smile – although she could not have known that he was unable to not smile in her presence at that moment. Possibly she had meant her words at face value, that she had been dragged from her table to carry out an errand on her uncle's behalf. She had been eating out of a bowl, and he would not be surprised if she hated interruptions to her routine. He would have been put out had he been in her shoes.

Finally, and by far the hardest to swallow, was the truth that he did not need to _become_ horribly in love with Beatrice – _he already was_. And had been since soon after they had first met. How else could what he heard affect his soul in every way?

It explained his immediately requesting the barber's man come and shave off his beard as soon as he was clean. He had drawn a number of stares from his fellow officers. Even the beardless Claudio had blinked when he arrived. He would not explain himself – he could not until he had found a way to explain his change of heart without enduring too much wit thrown at him. His headache was still there, which forced him to stick with more fizzy pop – this time from a bottle. He had even taken medicine with his dinner, which he took in private so he would have a clean face – which Beatrice had once indicated she preferred, something that set her apart from other women.

He would gladly endure witcrackers if he could have Beatrice at his side. Or be at her side. He was more than willing now to work with her, treat her as the equal he knew in his soul she was.

Of course, how to approach her? He had to show respect for her, show her that he would treat her with love and kindness – never once imposing his will on her and forcing her into a role she was not made for. God could not have made a woman like her if she was not meant for a man who saw her as at least his equal. Therefore, she was too good for him, but he wanted to be chosen by her.

So how could he act without risking a repeat of that awful day that sent them on the "merry war" of words? Looking back on that day, he knew he shared in the blame. He could now see that she had seen his assumptions as another example of male imposition. He could not afford or bear to make that mistake again. It might cost him dearly, and drive her to despair. So what to do?

He was distracted enough that he did not hear the excited screaming of one member of the approaching bridal party.


	3. Light of Love

**Chapter 3: Light of Love**

In the club, the men were gathered. Don Pedro was seeking a drink – for who, it wasn't certain yet. He was already well on his way to being rather merry. Claudio was seated, laughing with and teasing back the officers and members of Leonato's house who made sport of him as the lager was passed around freely. Along with other alcohol.

Benedick was off to the side, absorbed in his own thoughts. All of them about Beatrice.

Suddenly, Margaret appeared, running into the grounds nearby, shrieking in delight. She had not yet indulged in any drinking, but those who knew her knew it wasn't far off. Especially as her excited mood led her to carrying an inflated, nude and featureless male doll. It belied the wings she wore over her shoulders.

Hero came right behind her, swatting at her arm and trying to convince her to drop it. But Margaret, thinking her lady needed to relax, just shrugged and ran off to their nearby destination. Hero groaned and complained to her approaching mother, and rushed after her trusted gentlewoman to keep her out of trouble. Innogen stopped long enough to encourage Ursula to follow, but even she gave up when Ursula's right shoe once again proved problematic. That gentlewoman paused long enough to remove it, check it for pebbles, and then rush after Innogen without putting it back on.

The final member was Beatrice. Strolled behind with her hands in her jean overall pockets. Her cousin had argued for her to wear some other outfit, but she pulled the right to ignore her cousin. She had not yet forgiven her for saying that she would go to Benedick with some 'honest slanders to stain' her with, or for saying he should 'consume away in sighs' rather than endure her wit. Or for letting her be caught in the painter's cord. Her eyes were on the ground, her thoughts on the gentleman himself.

Benedick had not truly registered who was passing or approaching. His thoughts were too important. Until his eyes caught sight of a familiar head of hair slowly coming by...

Beatrice did not look up or stop her progress toward the events for Hero. Until she noticed something familiar out of the corner of her eye...

They froze, him first as he realized she was there before she consciously noted him sitting there. Their mouths went slack – it was their first sighting of each other with each fully aware of their own feelings.

He could barely draw breath. Even in clothing clearly meant to hide her body, she was the most beautiful creature alive.

Her mouth went rounded as she tried to catch her breath. When had he shaved?! O God help her! It made him more appealing! She had to move before she embarrassed herself, so she broke eye contact – reluctantly.

Benedick watched as she slowly moved away. He could not look away, and his body turned to keep her in sight.

Beatrice could not resist turning back – not the short way, but the longer one to give herself more time to try to compose herself – to catch one more look. She had to touch her shirt, to remind herself that she could not approach him first. She wanted to give him some clue that she would welcome him speaking to her – especially to give her an out of this night.

But he could not find his voice. And so he watched her walk away. His breath came in bursts through his mouth as she left his line of sight. Why did she cover herself in clothing that was unworthy of her? It did not flatter her at all. Although if it helped keep others away from her, then he would not object.

He was of half a mind to follow her, forgoing Claudio's merry-making, until Don Pedro spoke. It snapped him out of his trance.

Not that it was pleasant. He had a disgusting fruity drink with a sparkler placed in front of him. He had pushed that aside, claiming he was 'not as I have been.' But he endured a teasing that he could not tolerate for long. These men knew of Beatrice's love for him, and they spoke so disparagingly of a woman who might love him?! He had to get out, and used the excuse of 'eight or nine wise words' to speak with Leonato about.

He had the suspicion that someone would bring a 'lady' in for the men's entertainment. Once he might have been amused at how stupid his fellow men behaved, and encouraged the dancer to frustrate the man in whose honour the event was thrown. Now he did not want to look upon a woman's skin – if it did not belong to Beatrice.

* * *

Beatrice needed a drink within moments of the dancer arriving. He reminded her too much of Titus, one of Leonato's gentlemen. He was too dark for her tastes, lacked the freckles that she now found darling, and he _did_ have the look of a man who was more interested in men – and only performed for women because they would pay well. This man was surely making a fair bit of money from this one performance.

So she had persuaded the bartender to give over a bottle of vodka just to her. No one seemed to notice. They were all too excited over his teasing – particularly of Hero. Poor Hero – she was smiling, laughing, and shocked. Especially when he was down to his undergarments – which barely hid the family jewels.

Beatrice slipped off to the side. No one had taken any notice of her since. No one had noted she kept to the side or was hardly watching the performance. She sighed and sank to the floor, leaning against a pillar. She ditched her empty glass – it had once had ice in it, but now she felt more like drinking straight from the bottle. She had never done so before, and she just wanted to act like a man tonight. Maybe she would find an answer to her dilemma of how to encourage Benedick without degrading herself.

She had to use her wit to send off a few unpleasant males who happened to come near the party. Not all were seeking one last bit of attention from Hero – some men still approached her despite her reputation, all clearly after her fortunes. There was only one man she wanted to see anytime soon... but when might that be? At the wedding?

* * *

Benedick left Leonato at his house, having discussed those words. He had finished his beverage, and felt restless. He was not ready yet for bed, but he was not returning to the men's gathering. He wanted to find Beatrice – he did not like the misunderstanding existing between them. So he gathered his courage to apply a soldier's mantra to a non-war situation: get unpleasant tasks out of the way first.

He had to pray that his wit would not fail him. This was critical.

Passing the men's gathering at a distance, he wasn't surprised to see a dancer near Claudio. He was a bit surprised that Claudio had consented to be tied up and blindfolded. But he did not dwell on that. It was not his concern that Claudio's actions were a bit disrespectful to Hero, or that the practice was all too common among men of his station – of any wealthy station.

He would proceed to find the women's gathering place. Surely he could find a moment to speak with Beatrice.

He had to walk past a number of Hero's waiting gentlewomen. One reminded him a bit of the dancer by Claudio. He hoped it was a coincidence – it did not bode well for a woman to be known to look like one who was considered a step above a lady of the evening.

Then he saw a jean-covered knee poking out from behind a pillar. It was baggy over that knee, so his instinct told him she was there.

His courage almost failed him. Fear told him to turn around now, that he wasn't ready to plead his case yet.

But if he did not do it now, when would he find another moment? Days from now? No, that was not acceptable. He had come this far. He had to see it to the conclusion. So he walked a bit closer, and his breath caught when he saw the beautiful red hair that had captured his imagination.

Beatrice stilled. What man was approaching her? Had he noticed her bottle? Did he intend to try to take it from her? She turned to give him a piece of her (admittedly slower than normal) mind, and gasped when she lighted on Benedick's face.

They stared at each other, the sounds of the club pulsing around them. But they couldn't hear anything. Except their own respective heartbeats, breaths.


	4. We Go Together

**Chapter 4: We Go Together**

Benedick swallowed, forcing his voice to work somehow. Then he noticed what was in her hand and paled slightly. "Lady Beatrice," he began slowly, kneeling so he didn't have to shout over the noisy music. "Have you been drinking all this while?"

Beatrice supposed he was surprised to see her drinking something other than lager. It was the only thing she was ever imbibed in his presence before. "Yea," she acknowledged, not admitting just how long she had had the bottle in her possession. "And I will drink a while longer." To emphasize that, she took a sip right from the bottle.

He cringed. He wanted to take it from her, but that would be an imposition of his will on her. He would not repeat the previous time. "I will not desire that."

She scoffed. "I do it freely. The celebrations are a bit too much for my tastes." And she took another sip.

He nodded slowly, still waging the internal battle to not take the bottle from her and caution her about the headaches one might have from that much drinking – or even worse, serious illness. "Yea, I felt the same about Claudio's. I had no interest in being part of them."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "A man who does not share his fellow men's preferences? The world perhaps could not handle another like you, Signior."

He smiled, just a little. "The world could be better with more like you."

Her face fell. "There are few who would agree with such a sentiment. The world wants mild women who do not challenge men. That women have wisdom and could rule is ignored or denied. Daily I must fight to protect myself from being 'fitted with a husband,' as my uncle says. He will not listen, and has imposed his will on my fortunes. Mine!" She pushed herself upright, to get to her feet, unsteadily.

Benedick's hands reached out to help her, but she waved him off. Still, she struggled as she added, forlornly, "How can I trust that there is _any_ man who show such friendship that he would defend my right to decide how to run my father's household? Who would stand as my guard against those who would prey upon women of fortune?"

Drinking had loosened her tongue slightly. She was barely aware that she had let out things that she had not dared admit before – she only cared that she did not expose the secret in her heart. Not yet.

The sight of Beatrice's frustration and despair rendered Benedick's control over his own tongue void as he shot to his feet. "I would defend your right, for I do love nothing in the world so well as you!"

Beatrice gasped and snapped her head up. Her hands flew to steady herself against the pillar, forgetting that one had held a bottle. It fell behind and to her left, smashing against the floor and shattering into pieces. Unaware, she turned her shocked expression on the man who put it there.

His cheeks puffed out from surprise, his eyes wide. Oh, he hadn't intended to just blurt it out... but he wouldn't dare take it back. He struggled to find his voice – his usual readiness with words was fled and gone. He had to say something, so he let out the first thing that came to mind. "Is not that strange?" Yet it did nothing to ease his spirit or thoughts.

She stared at him, barely able to blink. Her mouth slowly closed. "As strange as the thing I know not." She took a few breaths, painfully aware his eyes were on her, transfixed. She forced her throat to clear, loudly. She recovered her balance enough to wring her hands together and meet his eyes again. "It were as possible for me to say I love nothing so well as you."

And she gasped silently, turning away. Oh, God, help her! Could she keep anything secret tonight?!

Benedick's restrained expression slackened as hope filled him. He followed her as she stumbled toward another pillar.

"But believe me not," Beatrice protested, waving her hand as her other helped her balance. "And yet I lie not," she owned, trying to catch her breath.

He stepped closer, worried for her and unable to leave her side. Even were she unaffected by drink. He was distinctly feeling like a moth being lured by a flame.

She took a deep breath and pointed at him. "I confess nothing," she growled, stumbling against a few chairs. "Nor I deny nothing," she gasped as he stepped even closer. She felt like she was being caged, and managed to push three chairs in a line between them.

Benedick stopped immediately. He hid a cringe that he had alarmed her, and stayed still to show his respect for her. Evidently, no one else did – sadly.

Beatrice wrung her hands. "You must not attach any meaning to my words now. My cousin's impending nuptials has produced a great turmoil in my soul, and I sought escape tonight."

He knew the truth of a wise saying: in vino, veritas. It did not detract from the moment – although it meant he had to tread with care. "By my sword. Beatrice," he began with a firm gentleness, slightly belied by the smile he could not quite suppress, "thou lovest me."

It was a hint of the male tendency to impose on her. Just a hint, but enough to trigger her ire. Not that she could manage her usual bluster as she had to use the chairs to stay upright as she retorted, "Do not swear by it and eat it."

He was too close now to back down. "I will swear by it by that you love me, and I will make him eat it that says I love not you."

She leaned forward a bit. "Will you not eat your word?"

"With no sauce that can be devised to it."

There was a staring match. Marred by her twitching slightly from nervousness. Although each had to force themselves to breathe.

Benedick's smile returned slowly, looking rather like a man drunk. "I protest... I love thee."

She couldn't have held in the loud scream of delight had she been sober. However, the drinking had dulled her ability to handle sudden changes in balance, and letting go of the chairs to flap her hands about in excitement sent her falling toward the ground.

"Beatrice!" Benedick shoved the chairs aside to kneel next to her, relieved when she fell into another chair.

She managed to wave him off. "Oh, shoot!" she breathed, trying to recover a measure of dignity. But it seemed to be gone. "Why then, God forgive me!" she cried, clasping her hands together in prayer as she lowered her head.

He blinked, hovering just nearby. "What offence, sweet Beatrice?"

She looked up, placing one hand over her heart as she tried to bring her breathing back under good regulation. "You have stayed me in a happy hour. I was about to protest I loved you."

His eyes lit instantly. He sat and touched her shoulders. "Then do it with all thy heart."

Her hands reflexively grasped his arms. "I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest." She gasped again, still not quite believing – as she tugged away, leaning back to put a hand over her heart.

Benedick beamed. He needed a moment to find his voice, and held his arms out. "Come, bid me do anything for thee."

She spluttered into laughter, and he had to join her. Them? Agreeing like this? It seemed surreal, something absurd. Their hands each grasped the other's arms to steady themselves. Beatrice's laughter dipped into a squeal as she lost her balance and fell forward, into his arms.

He caught her, and moved to sit next to her, feeling like a giddy schoolboy over getting to hold her. If he'd had the chance to hold her before the misunderstanding, he would've tried much harder to clear the air between them. They might have been celebrating well over ten years together by now.

Benedick's laughter could not stop him from speaking, as he suddenly felt that he had the courage to ask the most important question of their lives. "I do mean it, Beatrice. Will you have me?"

She gasped suddenly, pulling away in surprise and trying to recover her composure. He didn't fight it, all humor fleeing his face. She was about to answer him or even ask him something in response, and he had to give it all of his attention.

She felt tears building in her eyes. Oh, how she wanted to stay in his arms and seal everything between them! But... could she? "You say that you would do anything for me. Can I be assured of that? What if others demand you do otherwise – as the law and history and custom might demand?"

He shook his head. How could the chance be slipping through his fingers?! "Sweet Beatrice, I would never do you wrong."

Beatrice's teary eyes met his evenly. "Will not your family, your lord, and the world at large demand that you take control over everything – casting aside all of my knowledge, wisdom, and family history? Will not you have to bow to such expectations, and even come to regret taking hands with a woman who is not the ideal wife? If the choice is between what I want of you and what another man expected of you, what will you choose? Will you expect me to follow your lead when I know in my soul that another action is right? How can I be assured that you will protect our family against any threat – that you will _be_ a man for my sake?"

He stared sadly at her. Oh, what had Leonato and all her other suitors done to make her feel so low about herself? And was the world truly so bad as that?

It was, his soul whispered. And he had expected her to follow his lead back when they met. It was the practice he had been taught to expect... and yet he had not even thought of marrying anyone else. It told him what direction he had to take – if not the actions required.

Beatrice wept openly then. His silence was alarming her. "If I cannot have proof of that, then I would rather die a maid with grieving for lost love than a wife under chains regretting the loss of her freedom." She got up, managing to remain steady.

He grabbed her hands. "Tarry, good Beatrice." He took her right in both of his. "By this hand I love thee!"

She shook her head. The plea in his eyes almost undid her resolve. "Use it," she declared, trying to not break, "for my love some other way than swearing by it!"

Benedick forced his breath to stay even. "If I can give thee such proofs then will thou consent for us to be bound in the state of honorable marriage? Be utterly sure of it?"

Beatrice's tear fell readily. "Yea," she cried from the weight of her feelings, "as sure as I have a thought, or a soul."

"Enough!" he declared, gently holding her shoulders. "I am engaged. I will meet your challenge."

She took a number of unsteady breaths, hardly daring to believe her eyes or ears as her hands stayed where they had been – in the air. She trembled under the weight of his earnest gaze.

He dropped his gaze to her right hand. "I will kiss your hand, and so seal my vow." He held it in both of his, and pressed his lips to it.

Beatrice's breathing hitched. There was an infinite tenderness to it, and it lasted several long seconds. He certainly believed his promise. Oh God she wanted him to show that proof she craved!

He released her hand from the kiss, but not from his own hands. "By this hand, I will set out to prove daily that you may depend upon me, that there shall never be reason to repine."

She still wept, but her tears were quieter. Her heart told her he would prove himself. Her soul believed it. Her mind still needed the proof, and would not rest easily until she had it.

He eyed her expression. Her eyes seemed a bit tired. "Please, come and let me fetch you water and food. Believe me when I say it will make you feel better."

She managed a tiny smirk, silently rebuking him for the almost-order. But she knew he was speaking from the hard-earned wisdom that came from being addled by drink. So she nodded, letting him guide her in relief past the shattered bottle.

It only dawned on her then that she was lucky her feet had not been hit by the shards – sandals did little to protect the bottoms of feet, let alone the sides and tops.


	5. Come Away Death

**Author's Note**: The lack of dialogue is meant to convey the events of the scene I copied – with modifications, of course – as there was virtually no dialogue in the original. For the actions... well, imagine the trashy scene of a nightclub and you probably can't go wrong.

It may not seem like this chapter should be rated M, but if you know what I know about the scene in question... then you'd understand exactly why I rated the story M to begin with.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Come Away Death**

The club pulsed with music as the disco lights shone – rolling their effects over the room. The tune changed to a slightly darker tune, although still utterly suitable with its beats. It was more than loud enough that you had to be right next to a person to speak with them at all.

Innogen accepted a light from the dancer, now clothed again. Sweet boy, she thought, as they chatted a little. She hoped he would find contentment in life. It would be more difficult because of his preferences. She could tell – she had watched some of his natural reactions, which clued her in even through his excellent smile.

At a table, Margaret was tossing back shots with Borachio, munching on bar nuts and giggling as he entertained her with silly stories. She thought he was in love with her, and felt a delightful clouded sensation in her mind and body.

He was grinning because she was swallowing his lines like a hungry fish. She had almost enough drink in her that she would be completely malleable to his purposes. Soon Don John would bring Claudio and the prince to the club to witness 'Hero's' betrayal of her intended. She was almost ready to play her unwitting part in the scheme.

Out of their sight, sitting at another table, were Benedick and Beatrice. He had managed to convince her to split a sandwich with him, and have a fizzy pop. The noise of the club had the benefit of having to sit close together and lean in so they wouldn't have to yell. He told her all sorts of stories about life as a soldier, even some of the unfortunate drinking sessions he either witnessed or was a part of. She looked on him with a new respect for admitting his mistakes and learning from them, which relieved him and showed that there was perhaps very little he could not speak with her about.

In return, she talked about growing up on the emotional outskirts of her uncle's household. He found himself more in awe of her ability to keep to her beliefs and conscience in the face of such pressure from those who raised her almost as their own. And thus more determined to prove his worth – their marriage would free her from the chains of her uncle's rule.

The two lead members of the Watch briefly visited them before moving on to check on the rest of the action, only briefly interrupting them. Two older men who smiled through most of their talking, and were perhaps too silly to truly be handling the duties of protecting the town.

It did remind them that it was probably time to move on. Beatrice was feeling the effects of the vodka and Benedick had a new headache from the music.

Nearby, Hero and Maria – one of her waiting gentlewomen, and sister to Margaret – danced to the music. They copied each other, mixing moments from a variety of sources – including things from across the Atlantic. Some were more suited to All Hollow's Eve than the night before a wedding, but the two were having too much fun to care.

Ursula stood at the edge of the dance-floor, watching her elder daughter and her lady relaxing in their movements. Innogen joined her, and they spoke a bit of the next day.

Beatrice had the urge to move to the dance-floor, just to burn off some energy. Also, the spark that she felt from sitting next to him was getting hard to ignore.

More than bit dismayed, Benedick stood with her. He tried to talk her into just simply heading back to her uncle's, but she wasn't inclined to listen. Instead she joined Hero and Maria, her movements not as coordinated as theirs – despite the time she had spent having water and food.

Nearby, Borachio had coaxed the extremely suggestible Margaret over to a pillar. Any moment now, his master would bring the prince and Claudio over, and the deception would reach its peak.

Don John entered first, managing to catch Borachio by the shoulder and quietly hint that he needed to do something to ensure even the not nearly as drunk Don Pedro would see through the deception. He had just noticed – and cursed himself for forgetting – that Margaret was shorter and had darker hair than Hero. Even their dresses being alike would not hide that. He had to coax Don Pedro and Claudio over behind some of the pillars, to give Borachio a chance to make the acting more believable.

Benedick watched Beatrice's movements with mixed emotions. He did not notice that her dancing might be called by others the least appealing on the floor. The sight of her body in motion did rather unspeakable things to his... and they were not even touching.

Borachio stumbled over, leaving Margaret leaning against the pillar for support. He had a goal in mind. He noticed Beatrice in his path, and played the fool for a moment.

Only Benedick was having none of that. He got right between the two, glaring at the man.

Borachio drew back sharply. O lord, this could be bad.

Fortunately for him, Beatrice scolded Benedick, insisting she could protect herself and that a drunk was no threat. That began a new argument – which required them to be in each other's faces to be heard, prompting all sorts of reactions inside them.

Praising his luck, Borachio quickly turned, and found himself facing Innogen. She tried to send him off, but he quickly saw Hero and play-flirted with her a moment. Then he grabbed the veil off her head and walked away with it toward Margaret.

She only noticed that he had a prize for her, not seeing where it came from or recognising it. It seemed a sign from above of his intentions, so she made her way to join him on the dance-floor.

Maria had broken away to leave with her mother at this point. They were not sure where Margaret was, but they thought she had already left for the night. So they departed quietly.

Beatrice was not so drunk that she did not notice a man stealing what was her cousin's property. She reached out for it, but could not move quickly enough. Benedick, misinterpreting the cause of her imbalance, caught her again.

While Borachio placed his stolen ware on Margaret's willing head, Innogen quickly led Hero out of the nightclub. Something being stolen was a sign it was time to call it a night.

Beatrice broke away a moment from Benedick, irritated by his protectiveness. And momentarily baffled by noticing that her cousin and the other ladies were gone. She went off to the side a bit, but he followed, not letting up on his case for them to depart right away. After all, wasn't the music awfully loud?!

Borachio tugged Margaret's pliable body back to him where she had parted, sensing that it was time to 'dance' with her, his front to her back, in a way that no lady of Hero's standing ought to permit with a man not her husband. She needed no prompting to perform.

Don Pedro and Claudio saw it, and Claudio especially was frozen from shock. It couldn't be!

To keep them off-balance, Borachio quickly led Margaret away into the shadows. Claudio exclaimed and tried to follow, but his drunkenness made that impossible. Although Don John had to follow enough to ensure he did not catch them. Which he did not – he soon lost track.

Benedick managed to placate Beatrice enough by backing off from one argument, admitting he was overstating things out of concern for her, that her mood lifted. Suddenly letting out a delighted cry, she went to the center of the dance-floor, trying to coax him to join her. His hesitation, driven by the feelings that watching her earlier ignited, made her laugh and remind him that they had not truly danced even before their merry war began.

Don John noticed then that Beatrice and Benedick were still around. O that was not good! Either one of them could unravel things. But he remembered how Benedick reacted rather strongly to Borachio going near the niece of Leonato. Noting Conrade walking nearby, he managed to motion – unnoticed by Don Pedro – to his gentleman to walk close to her. He prayed it would be enough to keep either from looking in the wrong direction. Or from attracting the attention of Don Pedro or Claudio.

Conrade was uncertain what his lord was planning, but he would go along with it. He approached the dancing Beatrice, laughing and ready to chat her up. As little as he understood such a lady, she had a certain spark in her that was appealing.

She pushed him away even before Benedick rushed forward, again coming between her and another man he saw as a potential threat to her in this state. She opened her mouth to protest, but this time she got a clear look at his face, saw his wish to keep her safe... and it was overwhelming at such proximity.

Benedick had his mouth open to caution her, certain his reputation on the battlefield would be enough to send Conrade off. But the sudden awe in Beatrice's eyes silenced any words.

Conrade moved on, seeing that his job was done. He had not expected such a scene, but it appeared it would be enough.

Don John cautiously approached as Don Pedro motioned Claudio back to them. Now here was a sight he had not expected. Was his brother's lieutenant so keen on the Lady Beatrice? Never had one man's possible attachment to a lady _served_ his purposes before.

The closeness of her body, the feel of her breath against his face, and his own feelings overcame Benedick's reason. He cupped her face and kissed her deeply.

She was stunned, but it did not last more than a short moment. She moved her arms to wrap around him instinctively, and his hands left her face so his arms might embrace her against him as closely as possible. His feet led them toward the shadows without either being aware of it.

Claudio staggered back to the dance-floor, Don Pedro slowly trailing behind at a distance. They were looking around for the lady they assumed was Hero. Where had she and that villain gone?

Seeing that the two last possible obstacles were removed and out of sight, Don John turned and stood still, watching. He knew his gaze would lead the other men to see the heavily shadowed sight of the drunk Margaret against Borachio. He was leaning low against a pillar, and their actions were even less appropriate than before. He was certain that Borachio's cries of "Hero" and Margaret's cries of delight would be the final nails in the coffin.

It was. Claudio tried to rush forward to stop them, shouting incoherently. But for once Don Pedro's instincts of not interfering and waiting for another time to act served Don John well – he helped the mastermind lead the devastated Count away.

Benedick and Beatrice heard nothing of the commotion nearby. They were too consumed with each other's touch to notice. The love that had grown between them unacknowledged had instantly converted into an inferno.

Nearby, Margaret was now alone. One of her shoes had gone into her grasp, forcing her to walk awkwardly in one heel. She came across the two lead members of the Prince's Watch, who helped her sit and get her shoe back on. She chatted with them about how she was heading back to her lady's house, having celebrated perhaps a bit too much before the Lady Hero's wedding. The two old men, former soldiers themselves, were kindly and soon helped her go on her own way back.

She had her own fun tonight, and her lady did as well. It was a good omen for the morrow, she felt.

Only when they realized their hands were moving close to places that a couple not married should not approach did Benedick and Beatrice pull apart, guiltily and reluctantly. He started to apologize, but she waved it off, silently admitting her own fault in the moment.

Still, he insisted on escorting her to her uncle's. She was still a bit drunk, and there were plenty of hooligans around who would not hesitate to try something not right. Benedick knew well that a number of the soldiers in the camp were not necessarily good men once they had some drink in them. And he did not _yet_ want to end their time together.

Beatrice agreed silently to that, not liking the idea of them parting company yet either. Although they made sure to keep their hands in their own respective pockets. Physical contact seemed a very bad idea.

So they walked, talking quietly as they left the noise of the club at closing time behind them. Ignoring their surroundings as much as they could. Although they waved a goodnight to the Watch, who called for them to take care going home.

Had either paid attention, they would have seen Conrade stepping out of the full shadows to light a smoke – smirking at how far Benedick had fallen from his earlier position of a bachelor – or moments later hearing Borachio calling out drunkenly to him. They would have been witnesses to support the Watch, who did overhear the entire conversation, and keep the villains from thinking they could have walked away from two older men.

That is, until the Rambo-obsessed Constable Dogberry arrived with a rifle.


	6. Sonnet Rap

**Author's Note**: This is one of the chapters where the song title is a bit... off, given the chapter's contents. Especially since I've stolen it from an entirely different scene. Still, I aimed to use all of the song titles from the soundtrack, and this was the only place that it _remotely_ fit given the other chapters.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Sonnet Rap**

Benedick had never been more grateful to have stayed sober during a celebration than he was that morning. It allowed him a reasonable rest, despite the late hour he managed to get to bed. He was now alert, which he would need to be throughout the remainder of the month Don Pedro had said they would likely stay. Unless he held to his slightly drunken ramblings from before the teasing, and he intended to leave much sooner than that.

If so, he might have to leave his lord's service right away. In case he needed more time to prove himself to Beatrice. After all, he might be required to do so in order to help Beatrice reclaim control over her father's house. Yes, eventually he would need to set aside the courtesies and advancement opportunities that might still be in his future to be there for the woman he intended to wed. He did have the letter ready, to be presented whenever he had to.

He was dressed for the wedding. Although he _hated_ having to wear the dress uniform. The sword was a relic of the past, a decoration that weighed a man down more than helped his image. And this was a costume piece. The real thing was far heavier, and thankfully almost never saw the light of day anymore. If a woman ever tried carrying the sword, then there might be a petition to discard it from the regulation standards.

He considered the possibility a mark of progress. Although he supposed some women would wear it with pride. Beatrice would very likely be one of them.

He smiled at the thought. Happy as he was that Beatrice had not been born a man, he could easily picture her as being the equal of any man he had ever seen on the battlefield – if not the superior.

He supposed she might prove a bit more bloodthirsty, but that might be partially due to her not being able to defend herself as she always wished she could. Then again, he hid behind humor and a bit of anger himself. So they could each help the other.

Now he had to get through the wedding and the party. He had none of the irritation he had the previous morning, but then again getting over a hangover-induced headache was never a delight. Still, all the joy and celebrations would not be pleasant to him since it would likely heighten Beatrice's own feelings of alienation.

Yes, he would suggest a very quiet wedding for them. The pomp and circumstance was for the society, the community – not necessarily for the wedded couple. Certainly not for him and his sharp-witted lady. It would be more of a trial than a pleasure for them.

Finished with his frustration with the bloody uniform, his mind turned back to his favorite subject. One that had probably been his favorite subject for years and he had failed to realize it: Beatrice. He hoped she had taken his suggestions to help herself get over the hangover. Perhaps he had done her a little favor in helping her avoid the worst of the aftermath. He hoped.

So... how to go about his quest? What could he do?

Inquire about her plans for running her father's house? Benedick had to wonder if Beatrice had even thought about that, given that she would likely have to wait until her uncle's death to have any chance of taking control of her wealth. And with her cousin marrying, that raised the possibility that her new cousin would be left in charge of Beatrice's wealth.

He scowled. Claudio needed guidance on many things related to wealth, being so young. And while Leonato was not truly old, he was neither toward his youth – having married a bit later in life. It might be one more cross for her to bear.

And something he could not mention. Therefore, the subject of her father's house was not acceptable.

Her intentions toward the bringing up of any children? She surely had many thoughts on what she remembered from when her father lived – and he had once met the man when he was a small child, although he barely remembered it – and from watching her cousin be brought up. But... could that also be seen as him imposing his will?

He sighed sharply and looked at himself in the mirror. Nothing was out of place, and his hair was slicked back – as was his custom. He was ready for the day. On the outside.

Life as a soldier was much easier than life as a man in love and trying to win his lady. Yes, he thrived on a challenge, but he usually had ideas as to how to reach his goal. In the harsh light of day, he could not figure out any plans for the life of him.

Had anyone ever had this much turmoil from being in love? Who else had found their heart choosing someone who wooing would present the greatest difficulty of their life? Could he even woo? Was his wit able to turn in such a direction?

His body screamed at his mind to hurry up and find a solution. They had come so close to disregarding propriety last night. Worst of all, he only felt guilty over the danger to her reputation.

But she had not blamed him. O no, she had eagerly joined him and learned from it. Innocent she was, but not without passion – and he craved more of it! Had he had the _slightest_ hint of what she might be capable of back when they met, he would have been willing to humble himself for a second chance, and they would not have wasted over a decade in a war of words.

He swallowed hard. God help him control himself!

Then he realized it was rather quiet outside. He tugged his sleeve up to check his watch. Oh, dear! The wedding was upon him! He grabbed his hat and rushed out. It would not do to be late – that could not help his cause at all.


	7. The Rain It Rainth Everyday

**Author's Note**: Another chapter title that doesn't quite fit. It might've fit the previous chapter, but "Sonnet Rap" would never have gone with this one. So... this is what it is.

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**Chapter 7: The Rain It Rainth Everyday**

Beatrice's headache was considerable, although not as bad as the sneezing fits she found herself having if she even thought of a certain man's name – let alone heard it spoken. And it seemed that her cousin's fool of a waiting gentlewoman was taking far too much pleasure in teasing her about him.

She was not about to admit that her headache and sick feelings were from a lack of sleep, and not from the alcohol. No, it was all from the dreams that left her breathless and filled with... sensations that were previously unknown to her body. O she had been present for her aunt's talk with Hero about the marriage bed the day before, as her aunt insisted. She had mocked some of the words her aunt used as far too subservient to men, but her imagination had filled in the gaps – vividly. Especially in her dreams, which were all of Benedick and what could be their marriage bed.

She was grateful she looked unwell. Her flush she could attribute to sickness, not to the burning inside her body she felt ever since Benedick kissed her and they came within a hair's width of disregarding propriety. In public!

And her biggest shock? That she actually dreamed of letting him take liberties with her, or even them finding somewhere private to continue that moment. Where was her shame? What had love done to her?

More importantly, how had the women in her uncle's household figured out her feelings for Benedick? Why else would Margaret be on her about looking on him like 'other women do'?!

She was glad that the fool had no idea that her assumptions were both accurate and not. Although Hero had hardly defended her, which she should have expected after yesterday.

Only when Ursula had interrupted to fetch Hero did Beatrice find a reprieve. Not that it was much of one – she had to hurriedly be ready. Even though all she had to do was be there, she could not go in her typical type of attire. Today she had to make an effort to deliberately look nice – to do otherwise would be an insult to her cousin.

She had chosen to dress herself, wanting the quiet to reflect. Although she had been unable to avoid needing Maria's help in coiffing her hair – her hands were too unsteady. Then she sent the gentlewoman off, wanting one moment to herself before she had to join her family.

Her reflection greeted her in the mirror. The blue of her dress was a rather lovely color against her skin, and set off her eyes and hair. The neckline might be a bit much, but it was too late now. Hard to hide that she was an... endowed woman in any case. Her natural waves came out in the high ponytail that Maria had created to keep her hair in an orderly yet attractive fashion. And now there was no trace of her night before, having prepared her face.

But her eyes were heavy, and her lips could not find a smile. How had she come to this? She was now one of those women who could not stop thinking of a particular man.

Beatrice sighed heavily. Was this the weight of newly revealed love, when a woman was overwhelmed by her own feelings? Would this go away with a little bit of time to adjust to her new reality?

Or... was this the weight of practically refusing Benedick? Had she let fear rule her again? Was it possible that she had asked too much of him; that it would take him so long to produce proof, which would calm her mind and fears that she would eventually lose him to frustration? Should she have let herself stay in his arms and not made that challenge?

She wrung her hands, fighting back tears and her sniffles. Oh, she could curse a number of people and things right now! Beginning with the least important things. She hated having to dress so well, and to wear heels! Why did people wonder why she wore sandals and flats all the time? A lady could do anything in them, and not have to worry about falling over. And the fashions! She disliked the awful items her cousin and aunt often wore, signaling their wealth and attention to detail.

Beatrice's garments were made for comfort and to last. She chose them because they were not flattering to her form. It kept most men away, and those who weren't she handled with mocking.

Now she felt the weight of her overreaction back all those years ago keenly. She could have been attending this wedding as the mother of a few children, and from her own house. Her eyes watered over the loss caused by her own learned distrust. Oh why had not she been able to merely rebuke him for assuming?! Had she been able to just tell him to think of her and ask her first, and then seen proof of his listening, why...

She grabbed tissues to dab her eyes gently. Oh God she would need to reapply her face if this kept up! A quick glance in the mirror, and she sighed in relief. Okay, not bad. She could fix this.

And she had to. The clock told her she had to hurry. Her uncle would start on time, and she would do her cousin the wrong of being rude and showing up late.

And so she was rushing to the church as best she could. Oh she would not wed in heels, should she be lucky and Benedick found a way to prove himself!

Although if he looked upon her with a pleading gaze again, she might present some simpler challenge for him. One he could quickly meet. Oh she had never hated being her more than she did that moment!


	8. Who Is Hero?

**Author's Note**: This song is a bit more... on the positive side than the chapter's events really are, although the title is pertinent. And none of the other titles fit, or they were all meant for another event. So... bear with me. :) Now enjoy the alternate version of the wedding day.

**Chapter 8: Who is Hero?**

The guests were almost all in place. Friar Francis was speaking quietly with Don Pedro and Claudio, and wondering why both men seemed so grave. He had heard from his brother – who had briefly interrupted his duties on the Watch to speak with him last night – that the two were merry enough the previous night, although he did not truly approve of the actions mentioned. What man who took his own holiness seriously could?

Don John had been standing a long while, delaying sitting behind Hero's mother 0 his assigned seat. He was impatient for the Count to begin the diatribe that would undo the march-chick. He only sat when word spread that Hero was about to appear. He hissed at the boy of the house for working on some little hand-held item that made a lot of noise. Fortunately, the boy's mother – one of Hero's waiting gentlewomen – sat and took the toy with a quiet rebuke.

He had had a moment of concern when the constable and his aide came in to speak with Leonato, but they were such fools that he soon was at relative ease again. Nothing could stop the plot now!

From opposite ends, Benedick and Beatrice entered in a rush. They met in silence in the middle of the area off to the side, unaware that several people – including the grim Don Pedro and Claudio – were watching them intently.

Benedick took in her lovely appearance, struck silent with awe – and desire. If she had dressed this way before, some other man might have tried to woo her in earnest. He was suddenly very grateful she had chosen to hide her looks as much as she had.

Beatrice's eyes drank in the sight of him in dress uniform. He was so appealing, it made her tremble. What could she do?

She sneezed. Loudly and right on his dress uniform. Startling him.

The whole congregation noticed. Even the Friar looked up from his book.

Beatrice was mortified. She straightened herself and tried to recover her dignity. She motioned to wipe off anything, but was surprised when Bendick shook his head.

No harm done, he tried to tell her silently. It might be a symptom of the drinking. He would not hold it against her.

Relieved, she turned to sit next to her aunt. She heard his footsteps, expecting it since he had to sit somewhere. She reached her seat, leaned to pick up her programme, and straightened to find Benedick leaning to pick up the programme from the chair right behind hers.

He had to choose a seat close to her. It would let him look at her without anyone thinking anything of it, and keep him near. That it placed him right next to Don John was unfortunate, but he would endure a lot for Beatrice's sake. Indeed, he did not trust the man. When Don John had thanked Leonato just two days ago, Benedick's eyebrows could not stay still – he was certain that the words were not sincere, based on he observed of the bastard prince's character.

She tried to compose herself as she turned around, now very aware of his gaze.

They both started to sit, but the wedding march began, popping them right back up as the congregation stood.

Beatrice watched the beginning. Her cousin's earlier nervousness seemed vanished, replaced with an utter calm joy. A smile graced her lips, as she was truly happy for Hero.

Until Claudio's words seemed to belie expectation. And then he shoved Hero back at her own father and began spewing words of hate at her.

Beatrice rushed forward to protect her cousin against any physical violence. But she could do naught against the verbal, the more dangerous.

Many – including Benedick – stood in shock, trying to follow the accusations. No one wanted to believe them, but none knew how to challenge Claudio.

Innogen was unable to stand. Her heart told her that Hero was innocent, but would she be listened to? Especially since her own husband was not challenging the accusations as he ought to be?!

Benedick's eyes widened as it became clear that Claudio somehow thought Hero was not as pure as she seemed. How could he reach such a conclusion, even with his impetuous streak?! And what would this do to Hero?! And what was _Don Pedro_ doing in claiming Hero was no maiden?!

He could not let this continue, especially given that Don John had joined in the scorn moments before. "My lord," he loudly addressed the prince, shooting out toward them, "how can this be? How can a lord who said that he _knew_ Hero is worthy suddenly accuse her of such foul deeds?!"

Horrified, Don John held out an arm to stop Benedick's progress. No, this man could not be permitted to prevent this from succeeding!

Don Pedro was startled at his lieutenant's words. He was the last man he expected to challenge this. "Benedick, I did believe it. Till last night, I would have stood by that belief."

"But," Benedick insisted, stepping toward them and determinedly around Don John, "what proof could you have? Surely _someone_ could testify to her innocence." This had to be false, he believed. Someone was deceiving the prince and the count, and he only needed one guess as to who.

He had to act. It only took one man to ruin a woman. It took at least three women to ruin a man, and that was not assured.

"Hear me a little," cried Friar Francis, finding the courage to speak. "For I have only been silent so long and given way unto this course of fortune. By noting of the lady I have mark'd a thousand blushing apparitions to start into her face, a thousand innocent shames in angel whiteness beat away those blushes; and in her eye there hath appear'd a fire, to burn the errors that these princes and count hold against her maiden truth." He held up his hands when Claudio opened his mouth. "Call me a fool; trust not my reading nor my observations, which with experimental seal doth warrant, the tenor of my book; trust not my age, my reverence, calling, nor divinity, if this sweet lady lie not guiltless here under some biting error."

Benedick looked at Beatrice, and saw a ray of hope to silence any protests against the Friar's words. "Lady, were you her bedfellow last night?"

She wanted so much to be able to answer in the affirmative. Alas... "No," she admitted with tears, "truly, not; although until last night, I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow."

"Then stand aside, Lady!" exclaimed Claudio. "You have nothing to add here!"

"Nothing to add, villain?!" Beatrice shouted, stepping forward and managing to shock Claudio into stepping back. "You dare say that when you would slander, scorn, dishonour my kinswoman?!" Tears threatened to come through into her voice, but anger and the target of it being right in front of her drove her to speak through her choked throat. "O that I were a man! What, bear her in hand until you came to take hands; and then, with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour – O God, that I were a man!" She stepped closer, looking every bit like a fury, as she uttered in the tightest, deadliest tone ever, "I would eat your heart in the marketplace!"

"Peace, Lady Beatrice!" cried Don Pedro, reaching for her arm.

She avoided him. "Talk with a man in the open air! A proper saying!" she spat in scorn, anger keeping her tears in check.

"Lady Beatrice," Don Pedro interjected, stepping into her line of sight, "I respect your loyalty to your cousin. It is commendable, but nothing you can say will change the truth."

Beatrice would not be silenced. "Am I to understand that slander from a man is to be believed over the truth spoken by a woman? That he," she pointed at Claudio," is now as valiant as Hercules who only tells a lie and swears it?" Her voice became rather deadly in its quietness at the end.

Claudio recovered himself, determined to not be made a fool by yet another woman. "Lady, you know not what your cousin has done. Indeed your own honour ought to be called into question-"

"Count Claudio!" Benedick sharply interrupted. If one more word was uttered, he had realized, Hero's reputation would be murdered and she would never be able to show her face in society again. He could not let that happen. Never mind that his heart felt possessed with a fury beyond measure over the treatment of Beatrice, the dismissal of her words and honour. He stepped away from Don John, who again held out an arm to stop him. Instead, Benedick gripped his hat more securely – to help steady himself to his purpose – and held out his free hand toward the man he had considered a friend. "Shall I speak a word in your ear?"

The room was instantly silenced. A tiny hair pin dropping would have made an unbearably loud noise.

Beatrice's jaw fell. That tone and those words were the prelude to a challenge! He was going to challenge Claudio over this?! Her heart had never beat faster or more unsteadily.

Hero's stricken face went even paler. No, he could not mean what it sounded like he meant!

Leonato and his household stared at the man they intended to see matched to Beatrice. What was he doing? How did he intend to justify his actions?

Don John stared. Was this a good alteration to his plans or not?

Benedick just stared evenly at Claudio. There was no going back from this. He was about to stake his own life on Hero's innocence. But now he also now had his lady's integrity to defend. He would not fail.

All the fight and anger nearly fled Claudio's body. Here was the man who – though an excellent soldier – was rather clownish at times. What did he think he was doing?! He looked at Don Pedro for advice.

The prince was equally silent. He wasn't sure what Bendick intended, but once such words were uttered, they had to be respected no matter the circumstances. Especially when done so publicly. He motioned to Claudio to approach.

Claudio walked over to join Benedick, who stepped a bit further away from the group. "God bless me from a challenge," the count said, aiming for a bit of a jovial tone – thinking Benedick could not be serious.

Normally, a challenge was done in private. But given how publicly Claudio had accused Hero, he had no choice. "You are a villain," he loudly declared.

Claudio laughed, a high-pitched sound. The assembly stared at him and Benedick in disbelief.

Benedick's eyes shot to his. "I jest not."

Claudio – and the rest of the room – was silenced again. Every eye in the room stared at Benedick. No one could remember ever seeing his eyes ever look so cold and controlled – not even his fellow soldiers remembered such on the battlefield.

"I will make it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare" Benedick coolly informed the count, keeping his gaze for nearly all the while. Except for when his eyes needed a short break. "Do me right or I will protest your cowardice."

Beatrice's eyes watered and she held her breath as she witnessed the resolve in Benedick's manner. He was prepared to kill Claudio. For her sake?!

"You would with your words kill a sweet and innocent lady, and her death would fall heavy on you," Benedick warned. "Withdraw your words now, or let me hear from you."

Claudio found his voice as Benedick moved toward the ladies and the friar. "Well, I will meet you," he blustered from shock, slapping Benedick's arm, "so I may have good cheer." He managed a smile – until Benedick turned around.

"Sir." The word was dripping with sarcasm and the _loud_ implication that the title was undeserved. Benedick was grimly pleased that Claudio stepped back as he stepped forward – although merely the look in his eyes might have done all. "Your wit ambles well; it goes easily."

"This might be very well after all," Don John reflected _very_ quietly, a tiny smile cracking his features. "I would be blessed in every way to be rid of the Count."

Don Pedro was uneasy. He knew very well the strengths of his two men. Claudio had height and the energy of youth on his side. But Benedick carried age, wisdom, deadly discipline, and the sheer belief that he was in the right. He swallowed and tried to defuse the moment. "Benedick, do my eyes deceive me, or are you doing this for the love of Beatrice? I cannot think of any other reason."

"My lord," Benedick said, holding up a hand to ask to be heard, and to stop such further speech. "I do this because it is a gentleman's duty to stop the defamation of a lady he believes innocent of the charges laid at her door. I will not deny that I do look upon the Lady Beatrice with every eye of favor and wish to bound with her in the state of honorable marriage, but I will not force my will upon her person." He looked at her with profound regret. "If I had been wise to that when I met her, I would not have perhaps cost us many years together."

Tears flooded her eyes. She could not speak, though her mouth moved. He was being a man for her sake, even if his actions were right on their own terms. He was meeting her challenge beyond anything her imagination could have created!

Benedick turned back to the prince. "Marriage to Beatrice would make me cousin to Hero, which would mean defending her honor would be my _duty_ to my wife and her family. But most of all, I do this because no one else has stepped forward even though they must know in their hearts that Hero is wronged." He put his hat on his head, and reached into his dress jacket. "My lord, for your many courtesies I thank you, but if you persist in saying Claudio is right to say what he has, then I must discontinue your company sooner than I had planned." He held out the letter.

The silence was even deeper than before. Many face were wide open from shock. Including Beatrice's.

Don Pedro's was slightly slack, looking into Benedick's eyes and finding nothing but resolve. He slowly accepted the letter. "You are in earnest," he pronounced. "You are casting your lot entirely with Beatrice and her family."

Benedick's posture was tall and assured. "It is what is right. You, your brother, and your right hand would among you kill Hero with these wrongful accusations." He wanted to accuse the Bastard, but had to bide his time. "For my Lord Lackbeard there," he added, pointing at the stricken Claudio, "he and I shall meet if he cannot prove that his wisdom is being misled somehow. Though I would still demand a penance for his actions." He lowered his hand to his side. "You now know my mind, boy. What say you? Shall I send you away to your gossip-like humour? Shall you answer as a man would, and prove how you came to be so mistaken? Or must I seek my satisfaction from others on that score?"

This break with the prince suited Don John's desire for mischief. And yet Benedick could still very well undo the entire plan.

Claudio was silent, struggling to find his composure and his voice.

Don Pedro finished reading the letter, and folded it, holding it in one of his hands. "Benedick, you may ask me the questions, for I came to the knowledge at the same time Claudio did."

Benedick turned to properly address the prince. "Did you see the lady's face, this woman you say was Hero?"

The prince shifted slightly in his shoes, suddenly feeling a twinge of doubt. "I confess we did not, as it was dark."

"Did you hear her speak?" Benedick's question was prompt – he could feel Beatrice bristling with rightful indignation.

Claudio cleared his throat. "No, we only heard the villain call her Hero."

Beatrice would not be silent. "Upon this little bit do you accuse her?! This little bit of heresy?! Upon whose claims did you three chance upon this encounter?!"

Don John was silent. The lady was rather alarming in her unnatural fury.

Don Pedro took a deep breath. "My brother's," he admitted.

Benedick's own scoffing rang across the room and he pulled his hat off in frustration. Why was he not surprised? He had known the prince and Claudio to have the very bent of honour, and it was entirely expected to find that their wisdoms were being misled by John the Bastard whose spirits toiled in a frame of villany. But he lacked the proof that the prince's brother was behind the plot. So he had to resort to what he had at hand, which might still require him to kill Claudio.

He recovered himself and said the words that truly needed to be said. "Lady," he addressed Hero, "these men will not listen to your words, grant them any weight. But _I_ shall hear you. Do you know what man is he that you are accused?"

Hero's eyes held the fire that Friar Francis had spoken of. "They know that do accuse me, I know none!" She turned to Claudio, chancing to catch and hold his eyes. "If I know of any man alive than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, let all my sins lack mercy! O my father..." She turned to Leonato, rushing forward and grabbing his numb hands. "Prove you that any man with me convers'd at hours unmeet, or that I yesternight maintained the change of words with a single creature..." Not counting her mother or her gentlewomen, she silently added before letting her father's hands go forcefully. "Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death!" She stood tall, her rightful anger shining bright in stance and tone.

Benedick turned to the assembly. "Are these the words of a woman who knows that God would condemn her for her actions? Shall none of you even entertain the idea that she speaks the truth?!"

Friar Francis looked at the lady's accusers in restrained alarm as the room was silent. "There is some strange misprison in the princes and the count," he said, firm in his words and yet respectful to their station.

Leonato struggled to breathe steadily. "I know not. If they speak but truth of her, these hands shall tear her."

Benedick rushed forward – dropping his hat – upon seeing Leonato's hands raise, and he stepped between Hero and her father, grabbing the man's arms. It made many look in shocked awe at him. But he acted because he could not believe that Leonato disbelieved his own child. This was the action of a man so distrustful of women that he would believe men he had a relatively short acquaintance with over the child he had professed himself devoted to?! He held back the retort he wanted to deliver. And God knew he had plenty to say over the man's denying his niece the right to govern her own fortunes!

Only Don John and Beatrice looked alarmed – but for very different reasons.

But Leonato pulled back, showing he would not harm Hero. Not now. "If they wrong her honour, the proudest of them shall well hear of it."

Benedick relaxed slightly. Leonato was redeeming himself a quarter.

Fatherly love and anger made Leonato stand taller than he had in a long while. "Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, nor age so eat up my invention, nor fortune made such havoc of my means, but they shall find awak'd in such a kind, both strength of limb and policy of mind, ability in means..." He looked at Benedick in some surprise and considerable gratitude. "...and choice of friends... to quit me of them thoroughly." He raised his hand in a cutting gesture, making his daughter lose a bit more colour.

Well, Benedick thought with a frown as he noted Hero's growing alarm, maybe only an eighth.

"Peace, Leonato!" cried Don Pedro, surprised by the turn of events.

Innogen could not keep silent any longer. Her niece had spoken, and she had to. She suddenly stood from her chair, where she had been stricken with shock, and grabbed a champagne-filled glass, crying, "Let Claudio answer me!" She threw the contents in his face.

Leonato opened his mouth, and flung his hands in the air when he realized too late his wife's intent. Don Pedro stared in shock. Claudio exclaimed in disbelief. Don John was uncertain whether to be pleased or alarmed.

"Mother!" Hero called in dismay. The rest of the assembly was further numbed with surprise.

Innogen was undaunted. "Come follow me, boy, come sir boy," she continued in a mocking, withering tone, following him as he tried to walk away toward Don Pedro, "come follow me, sir boy, I'll whip you from your foiling fence!"

Beatrice's lips quirked into the tiniest hint of a smile despite the moment. A great secret of her aunt's was that she had been taught to fence, and had quietly taught both her niece and her daughter.

"Wife-"

She raised her free hand to stop her husband from walking forward. "Content yourself!" she cried, turning to Claudio. "God knows I love my daughter and that I saw her to bed almost at the time you accuse her. And she is al-but slandered to death by villains that dare as well answer a man indeed as I dare take a serpent by the tongue."

Benedick's eyes widened in a bit of awe. He had long suspected that there were subtle ways that Beatrice's spirit had been encouraged by her aunt, and now he had the proof.

"Innogen," Leonato protested weakly, feeling a duty to take control as the patriarch of the family. Also, he felt that her words were a slap to him, a rebuke for failing their child.

"Hold you content!" She was not about to not get her say in the matter, to deliver a blow to Claudio's pride that would surely last a lifetime – and be well-remembered by the gallants of the town – and a warning to her husband that he needed. The gentleness of her tone was belied by her words. "What, man! I know them, yea, and what they weigh, even to the utmost scruble... scambling, outfacing, fashion-monging _boys_ that lie, and cog, and flout, deprave, and slander, go anticly, and show outward hideousness, and speak off half a dozen dang'rous words, how they might hurt their enemies, if they durst, and this is all."

The women in the room were in awe of seeing the town's leading lady dare speak to a count in such terms that could only be meant as the ultimate insult to his manliness. It _would_ be well-remembered by all.

Claudio could not believe his ears, but he dared not speak against her. That would be against the code of conduct, even if her words would mean calling her out were she a man of his age. He was also too overwhelmed by the sudden opposition he found himself again.

Friar Francis held up his hands to put a halt on things. "Pause a while," he pleaded, stopping the protests that nearly came out of Don Pedro's mouth. "And let my counsel sway this case." He took a breath, composing his thoughts in a hurry. "There is a great lack of knowledge about what happened last night. Let there be a search for this person who called a young lady by the name 'Hero', and make him answer for his actions. Make him bring this matter to a close, and then..." He sighed. "Why, then let the challenge go forward, if it must. But let us not act in haste, my lords and ladies."

Don John was uneasy. "Let me hope," he whispered to himself, "that Borachio has hidden himself away."

Don Pedro thought a moment, and nodded. "I will commit any man who I can be assured could not have been the villain to join the search."

Leonato took a number of breaths. "Let it be done at once," he commanded after a long moment. "I will have my answers, though my soul does tell me that Hero is belied." He turned to Benedick before anyone could comment. "Young lord of Padua, you have placed yourself where you may endure the scorn of your own family for your actions in refusing the further advancement that the prince could offer you. You are prepared to face those consequences?"

"I am," Benedick answered calmly. "As I said, Seńor, it is only right."

He nodded slowly. "Yet I must show my gratitude, and I can only think of one way to repay you for your friendship to my family. You declared that you desire to be my niece's husband, did you not?"

Benedick and Beatrice froze, while the room went silent again. He glanced at her in confusion, but plainly answered, "Yes."

"Then, if my niece will agree, you two may be wedded by our friar this very moment."

Now everyone was paying complete attention. Margaret – stunned into such silence that she could not defend her lady – was paying _particular_ attention, impatient to see what happened and hoping that her lady's cousin would not be a fool and continue the merry war. Hero herself was watching intently, breath in her throat.

Don John twitched, not liking seeing someone get what they wanted, and yet he had no clue how to prevent it. The twitch was tiny, but it was obvious to anyone who might have bothered to watch him – he acted so tightly wound his brother had often warned him that he should relax before he sprained something.

Bendick swallowed as his wide eyes met Beatrice's. "Only if she chooses it _freely_," he declared, voice considerably quieter than before.

Beatrice hesitated to even answer. He was leaving it to her, proving he had listened to her the night before and would endure whatever scorn his fellow men might throw at him. He had proved himself.

Still... marriage under these circumstances? She looked at Hero. "When all this has happened?" she asked her. "How could you bear it?"

Hero rushed forward and took her hands in hers. "Cos, if I cannot be wedded today, let me have the joy of seeing you with a good husband."

Benedick's expression tightened. That seemed a rather unlikely approach to work on Beatrice's mind. Far too close to the beliefs of the family who had imposed on her, he worried.

But Beatrice found it more reassuring than imposing. Her cousin would not remonstrate her for reaching the married state before she did, even in the midst of the agony of the day. Beatrice hugged her cousin instantly.

This was an unclear sign to Benedick's mind. He could not tell what she had decided, and did not dare assume.

Beatrice pulled herself together and let go of her cousin to face Benedick. She met his uncertain eyes with a measure of calm. "You have given me proof that I would never have dreamt of asking for. If you are truly mine, then... come, I will have thee."

No one who had known Beatrice could have been prepared for such an admission. It seemed unnatural for her. But not to Benedick – he was suddenly filled with profound relief and even joy despite the moment. And even more confidence – he would succeed for her if Claudio left him no choice.

Neither noticed Hero gently pick up the hat from the ground as Benedick took Beatrice's hands before the Friar. Neither heard anything beyond Friar Francis' words and prompts, which they answered as they ought. Neither saw anything except for their mutual looks at each other. The gazes of a thousand regrets, hopes, desires flowed between them.

It was only natural that as soon as they were declared married that their lips met in a salute. One that lasted until they _had_ to part for air.

None dared to interrupt. An intruder might have been beaten by them for ruining the moment.

One person was more delighted than anyone else at the sight of the newly married pair. Although Beatrice questioned how much she was loved by her relations, no one who had the chance to observe Innogen's clasped hands, tilted head, and smiling expression – tempered as it was by grief for her child's uncertain fate – would have doubted that she loved her niece as a daughter. She had been uncertain how to express it without being seen as in the wrong.

But it was unquestionably a mother's love being silently expressed. For a lady related to her only by marriage, but it mattered not to the woman who raised Beatrice.


	9. Pardon, Goddess of the Night

**Chapter 9: Pardon, Goddess of the Night**

The celebrations were subdued, the music kept lower than it otherwise would have been. It was impossible to be truly jovial when the lady who was supposed to be married stood just short of accused outright of being not virtuous.

Although some were seeing a benefit to the sharpest shrew of the land finally being off her uncle's hands. She would either be following Benedick wherever he went, or they would be busy setting up her father's house to be occupied again.

Mind, none really wanted to be nearby when the newlyweds finally found a door to lock behind them. Between the length of the kiss and how they kept in some physical contact ever since, everyone older than ten could hear the _loud_ unspoken implication that they were more than a bit impatient to be alone.

Not that the couple was paying the slightest attention to any of their potential detractors. They moved to a slow ballad on the dance-floor, looking into each other's eyes as they held each other as closely as they dared given the inferno raging between them.

On one side of the room, Hero sat guarded by her parents, three gentlewomen (Margaret, Maria, and Ursula), and two of Leonato's men (Angelo, Ursula's husband, and Titus). Above her knees and held by her hands lay Benedick's sword in its scabbard, its weight both reassuring and uncomfortable. It was a symbolic gesture when he 'gave' it to her for safekeeping – it reminded everyone that he and his sword stood between her and her accusers.

Nearby, Maria's son sat with his Rubik's cube. He needed a distraction, and knew not what he could do to help – other than stay out of the way unless he was called for. He was sad for Lady Hero, and yet happy to see Lady Beatrice find her own joy. O he did not look forward to growing up.

To another side, Don Pedro stood with Claudio and Don John. He was aware of his brother's tension, and Claudio's unease after the multiple sources of public humiliation he endured. But his thoughts were not on either of them. Instead, his eyes watched the Lady Beatrice's gentle smile that was reserved for Benedick, her husband. A painful truth had crossed his mind. Although he had thrown himself into the plot to bring Benedick and Beatrice into a mountain of affection and had even spoken true when he said 'she were an excellent wife for Benedick', he now saw how much he _had_ meant his own offer for her.

He truly had been intrigued and fascinated by her from the moment they met, and he had meant it far more than he knew when he claimed – during their sporting with Benedick to practice on him – that he wished she had 'bestowed this dotage on me. I would have doffed all other respects and made her half myself.' His heart _had_ been captured by her, explaining why her refusal had hurt so much – leaving aside the joking she had evidently felt necessary to cover her true reasons for refusing.

Such a loss for his lands. He could have easily left his lands and realm in her hands and been confident in her ability to choose wisely. She would have done the realm proud, and won over her detractors once she showed her ability to rule in his name when away on campaigns. And it would have been an excellent move politically to be connected to Leonato's family.

Still, he liked to think that he was more motivated by a genuine wish to be the lady's husband than political concerns. She was extraordinary.

He silently acknowledged that the better man had won her. When he had the time to himself, when he did not have to watch over an unstable count and a brother he still did not quite trust, he would go to the side and smoke in private with his thoughts, face his regrets.

The rest of the assembly watched and talked amongst themselves. No one raised their voices – the mood left from the near social death of Hero was heavy on their hearts. Only that some couple had found some joy despite everything permitted any pleasure out of the gathering.

"Seńor Leonato!" A crisp, nasal voice interrupted the subdued action, stopping the dancing and music at once. Most of the room recognized the Sexton, the cousin of Balthazar. As children, they had only shared colouring alike, but as grown men they were often mistaken for twins. Only the sharp difference in their voices ensured that they were not mistaken for each other by sound. By sight, Balthazar's preference for Hawaiian shirts would have ensured that he was never mistaken for his military relation.

Leonato turned from the bar to acknowledge the man as he walked briskly toward him. "What is it, Sexton?"

"The examinations you said to commence without your presence have been completed, and you must read them at once." The Sexton handed Leonato a folder, which the governor opened and read.

Leonato was expecting some random offence that he had recently commanded be punished more severely, but he was not prepared for the contents. His face paled even as his body tensed. "O that I had known," he breathed, closing the folder sharply. His hands started shaking. "O that I had known!" he shouted, kicking a nearby empty chair, startling his wife, daughter, and their gentlewomen.

Benedick was ready to intercede, but his new uncle did nothing further. Only breathe like a man who had just had a fire ignited in his stomach. So he stayed put, keeping an arm wrapped around Beatrice's shoulders. She was more than unnerved enough by her uncle's actions to want her husband's comfort.

A mixture and shame and anger played on the governor's face. "Bring him forth!" commanded Leonato. "Bring forth the villain!"

"Come hither, sirs, you must be looked to!" cried a seemingly uneducated male voice. It was followed by a man in a mixture of fatigues and more casual clothing. Behind him trailed the primary officer who acted as Don Pedro's messenger, and then five more men followed. One was in a pale suit that had been better days, and a hat that was a bit torn up top. Two were older men, each wearing an orange "Prince's Watch" vest, were each dragging along another man. One was Friar Francis' brother, Hugh Oatcake. The other was his friend George Seacole, who led the Watch the night before.

Don John blanched as he recognised the other two. Oh, no...

Don Pedro stepped forward. "Two of my brother's men bound?!" Borachio and Conrade were being led into the room, and neither would look up. Their hands were captured in front with what appeared to be duct tape. The Messenger hurried in front and snapped a salute, which Don Pedro barely returned. "Officer, what offence have these men done?"

"Sir, this man-"

But Dogberry, the man in the fatigues, interrupted the Messenger, made a number of sputtering noises and gestured in a waiting motion with his hands. He had to be the one to answer this. "Marry, sir, they have committed false report, moreover they have spoken untruths, secondarily they are slanders, sixth and lastly they have belied a lady, thirdly they have verified unjust things, and to conclude, they are lying knaves." He finished with a hand wave more fitted to those telly game shows than a constable. Never mind his expression that said can-you-believe-that.

Many closed their eyes. Dogberry was a bit known for pretensions to being educated.

Don John felt a ray of hope. If Borachio and Conrade kept their mouths shut, all might still work out.

Wincing, Beatrice whispered to her husband. "Master Dogberry has tried to educate himself."

He nodded slowly. "He named the offences, yet gave them a different order of importance at the same instant. That requires some skill."

Don Pedro grimaced, face twitching from not trying hard enough to conceal his frustration. "First I ask thee what they have done, thirdly I ask thee what's their offence, sixth and lastly why they are committed, and to conclude, what you lay to their charge."

Dogberry started to speak, but Don Pedro held up a finger. It repeated until Beatrice called out, "Constable Dogberry! Let the prince lead." She did not want to see anyone pushed to their limits any further than had already happened.

The constable looked between her and Don Pedro, and stepped back. "All right," he said, clasping his hands behind him and staying near a pillar.

Don Pedro sent a look of thanks to Beatrice. He had nearly resorted to pinching the man's ear to shut him up. Turning to Borachio and Conrade, he said, "Masters, this learned constable is too... cunning to be understood." He barely held his countenance over the line, not surprised to see the man – out of the corner of his eye – puffing up slightly. "What's your offence?" he demanded.

Borachio did not need to see that Benedick's glare on on him – he could feel it. He knew the man had likely pieced together enough to know what he had done. Even with Don John present, there was only one course of action. Especially when the Sexton had informed him that Benedick was now cousin to Hero. "Sweet prince, do you hear me and let this count or this seńor or this governor kill me." His eyes rested on first Claudio, then Benedick, then Leonato as he spoke.

Don John stiffened so much that his joints nearly locked. No!

Ignoring the glare, Borachio continued speaking to the prince. "I have deceived even your very eyes and the count's: what your wisdoms could not discover, these... _shallow fools_ have brought to light, who in the night overheard me confessing to this man" he turned to look at the downcast Conrade briefly "how Don John your brother incensed me to slander the Lady Hero, and how you saw me court Margaret in Hero's garments."

Margaret paled, trying desperately to remember anything that could disprove that. But his eyes fell upon her with such remorse than she knew he was not lying. O God, how drunk had she been that she could not remember?!

Claudio was sheet white, seeing the truth of how he was played for a fool. Don Pedro himself was frozen from the revelation.

Don John made a move to leave, but four soldiers grabbed him. All fight went out of him when he noticed that Benedick's narrowed eyes were suddenly fixed upon him. He did not even notice the Lady Beatrice's even more dangerous look.

Benedick's free hand grabbed Beatrice's, silently reminding her that he was as furious over this discovery as she was, but that they had to wait a while longer before speaking. His eyes caught hers, asking wordlessly for permission to handle it. She tightly nodded, knowing that it was his duty to act on her behalf – as much as she wanted to take charge.

Leonato, already aware from the written examinations, stood stock still. His breaths were measured, waiting for the villain to finish his confession.

Borachio could no longer look at any of them and closed his eyes. "My villainy they have upon record, which I had rather seal with my death than repeat over to my shame. The lady would be dead upon mine and my master's false accusation if not for the protection of her new cousin; and briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a villain."

Don Pedro rubbed his face in dismay, cringing the whole while while Borachio spoke. His hands reached into his hair before they fell useless to his sides.

Claudio remained like a statue except for his mouth, which moved slowly, silently.

Benedick's arm tightened around Beatrice, trying to remind her to wait and let the others vent before she had her say. The prince needed to come to terms with his nearly fatal misjudgement. However... "That John the Bastard is behind this surprises me not, though I confess amazement that he could create such a cunning plot."

Beatrice's lips quirked ever so slightly. Her husband's words plainly declared that he considered Don John's intelligence at least a bit lacking.

"Nay," Borachio said. "He desired to cross the count's wishes. The plan was mine alone."

Margaret cried out and swooned, drawing her mother, sister, father, nephew, and even her lady to her side – cries of "Margaret!" and "Meg!" overtaking the rush. Titus, having long been fond of Margaret, also checked on her. Friar Francis joined them, concerned that the girl might be suffering from more than shock. Innogen had to take the sword off Hero's hands before it caused any harm.

Don Pedro slowly looked at Claudio, pointing at him. "Runs not this speech like iron through your blood?"

"I have drunk poison whiles he utter'd it," the count muttered aloud, al-but choking on his words.

"But did my brother set thee on to this?" Don Pedro demanded of Borachio.

"Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it."

"He is compos'd and fram'd of treachery," Don Pedro exclaimed, flinging his arms briefly, "and fled he would upon this villainy!"

Don John smirked. This pain and shame he had inflicted would suffice. "It was too easy, and-" He cut himself off when Hero got up and stormed over next to him.

The room expected a slap. The lady would be justified.

Hero was feeling a fire that she had never known in her life. Her wedding ruined, and her dearest gentlewoman manipulated?! She grabbed his shoulders and did what her cousin called 'denaturing the beast': she sent a knee against his organ.

He choked on his breath, folding over as best he could whilst held back by the soldiers.

Hero looked at his stricken form, stood tall and walked back toward her gentlewoman's side with primness. And a stony expression.

Beatrice's face had never shone with more pride for her cousin than at that moment, and she stopped her for a big hug. Even Benedick raised an eyebrow in approval, patting her shoulder in brotherly support. "Well done, cousin," he whispered, drawing a tiny hint of a smile from her before she returned to check on Margaret.

None faulted Hero. She had taken the opportunity to defend her own honour.

Whilst Claudio sank into a chair, stricken by the news, Benedick spoke. "I will leave Claudio's penance in the hands of my uncle and cousin. Once they are satisfied with his actions, I will release him from the challenge. Prince, think not on your brother till at least tomorrow; I'll devise thee brave punishments for him." He nodded to the soldiers, who gladly took Don John away. He fixed his stare on Borachio. "Was Margaret a knowing participant in this?"

"No!" Borachio had never shown such conviction or determination to be believed. "Upon my soul, she was not, nor knew what she did when she spoke to me."

Benedick nodded slowly. That kind of outburst was difficult to fake, and Borachio lacked the acting ability to manage it. The battlefield told you a lot about a man's skills. "Then hope that the Lady Hero will permit mercy on you, for I can think of worse punishments than death."

Borachio shuddered. Conrade flinched.

Before any could speak, Benedick took Beatrice's hand again. "My lady," he whispered, "are you ready to withdraw?"

She shivered, hearing an undertone that he was ensuring was not detected. "Past ready," she whispered back, giving him a significant look.

He turned to Leonato. "Sir, my wife and I wish to depart for the day, as these events must surely come to a close now."

Leonato merely waved them off. The villains had to be dealt with, and a punishment set for Claudio to endure – and both were his responsibility to see to. "We will see you on the morrow, when Claudio shall account for his actions and how his penance was carried out. Good night, niece and nephew." He vaguely knew he would not likely see them before then in any case.

Benedick quickly collected his sword and hat, and then walked out hand in hand with Beatrice. Each hiding the nervousness that was starting to take over.

They left behind a silent room, which soon forgot about them in the face of waiting for Claudio's fate to be decided. (Aside from those who were also concerned for Margaret.) His honour would demand he submit to whatever revenge Leonato devised, and the prince's honour would also insist on bending under any weight to satisfy the governor's demands – as he should have demanded better proof.

At least he knew he would never have to worry about what to make of his brother's words ever again. Let Benedick's imagination deal with him.


	10. It Was a Lover and His Lass

**Chapter 10: It Was a Lover and His Lass**

It was his chamber they walked to. It had to be, for Beatrice's was still in effect also Hero's and that lady would need the chamber that night. As it turned out.

Benedick opened his door and let her in. As he closed the door, he cringed. "Sorry," he muttered, looking at the items he'd left strewn about before hurrying to the wedding. "I will not make a habit of this."

Beatrice had to smile. "I cannot speak against a room not clean." She met his eyes. "I fell to slumber in an adjoining room to my chamber, uncaring that I had not prepared for bed and thus was not Hero's bedfellow." Her voice trailed off and she lowered her gaze, wishing she had stayed at Hero's side and thus could have stopped everything.

He paused in putting his sword and hat down where he had set them out before, looking at her. "Do not condemn yourself, Beatrice. Not even I thought the prince's brother was capable of such villainy." He took her hands in his. "I will not desire you cast blame upon yourself."

She sighed after a long moment. "I will require time to let it pass."

He waited to see what she wished to do next. They were alone, and anyone who knew where they were also knew what the... outcome would be. The details were not for anyone other than themselves, and Benedick's impatience to discover those details was starting to wear him down.

And yet how could he make the first move without some sign that it was welcome? After all he had vowed, he could not.

His silence puzzled her, so she looked up. And her breath caught as she met his eyes. All ability to speak fled her as the fire that had burned the night before between them gained strength.

Unable to bear the wait, Benedick lifted her hands to his lips, one by one, to place a kiss filled with even more emotion than last night's had been. "Wife," he whispered, pride and awe and love in his voice.

Beatrice's face flushed. She slowly freed her left hand so her hands could work his gloves off. "Husband," she answered, just as hushed from the disbelief that this was truly happening. "Is this a dream?" she asked breathily as she freed one of his hands.

He swallowed hard as her hands began to free his other. "If we are dreaming, pray we never wake."

The words made her breath quicken. With the gloves discarded to a table, she moved to his sash, her fingers trembling despite her best effort to focus. His fingers took the freed sash away, letting her move to his dress jacket. She worked in silence, dragging her eyes away from his so she could see not only what she was doing but also drink in the sight of his body as it was revealed to her.

Of course she had a tie, shirt, and undershirt to get through first. And the wait was making more than just her fingers tremble from nervousness.

He swore his body was burning from the inside out, impatient to help her and yet unable to do so. Not when he had vowed to not do anything that might be seen as imposing himself on her. He had to ease her mind, but what could he do? Even if he felt at liberty to undress her, he doubted his fingers would be able to obey him.

Oh, his mind slowly realized through the haze of her unbuttoning the shirt, humour. That was his way of handling stress. Perhaps it would help here. "I pray thee now tell me, for which of my... _bad_ parts..." He had to smile as her face broke out into amusement, cracking her nervousness. "...didst thou first fall in love with me?"

Beatrice could have kissed him for reminding her that words were their way of reaching out, of bonding. "For them altogether, which maintained so politic a state of evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them."

His eyebrows raised. Her words might seem harsh to anyone else, but it was a sign of how comfortable she was with him that she felt able to poke fun at his less admirable qualities without concern – even now.

"But," she added, determined to make him answer like with like, "I pray you, for which of my _good parts_ did you first suffer love for me?" She neatly finished on a squeal, the delight of being loved taking away much of the sting of the day.

That got a rise from him. "'Suffer love' – a good epithet! I do suffer love, for I love thee against my will."

The words were a reminder of how easily they had allowed the bitterness of their misunderstanding to cloud their respective judgments. Still she smiled, making him raise his arms so she could remove the undershirt. "In spite of your heart, I think. Alas, poor heart!" She could not help but plant a gentle kiss over it, as a mark of gratitude.

He grinned, unable to resist briefly kissing her lips. Only the knowledge that she had to have more to say kept him from deepening the kiss. He was uncertain how she might react if he did.

She blushed, but carried on. "If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours, for I will never love that which my friend hates."

"Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably," he reflected quietly. He was surprised he was not shaking from the effort to restrain himself, to not encourage her to do more.

Her smile faded as her hands rested on his hips, hesitating over his belt.

His face fell. "Beatrice... what troubles you?" His whisper was a bit alarmed, worried about her changing her mind about being ready for them to make a heaven in their laps.

Beatrice pursed her lips, taking a deep breath as she reminded herself that she had faced her uncle's efforts to fit her with a husband, faced an angry Claudio, and managed to tell Benedick the night before why she could not simply accept him then. She could speak her mind on this. "The acts that men think are their right, whether wedded or not." He should understand my meaning, she thought.

Benedick closed his eyes, for the first time feeling shame over his bachelor past. But he could not lie to her – it would hurt them both. "I cannot deny that... I have done such in the past."

She averted her gaze. She had expected this, but it did not lessen the sting by much.

He quickly and gently grasped her shoulders. "But three things I can swear to thee as the truth: firstly, only thy body shall _ever_ bear a child of mine."

Her eyes instantly met his. "You are certain?"

"I was... careful."

"So none of your oats were sown in fertile fields, is that what you mean?"

His skin changed colour slightly. Still, he nodded. "I was not about to inflict upon a child the fate of being labeled a bastard. I know it is not the child's fault, but it is neither fair to risk placing a child in such a situation. I fear that despite all Don Pedro's father did, Don John set himself on a course of villainy. And I suspect Don Pedro knew it, even if he was unaware of it."

Beatrice sighed, feeling a little better. "What else?"

"Secondly, as long as we both live, I will save myself for thee and thee alone."

Her mouth parted in surprise. "Never again? You will not-?"

"Never!" he whispered emphatically, looking right into her gaze. "And that last part is that I have not committed such acts in a long time."

Beatrice scoffed. "And what does that mean for a man?"

His gaze turned solemn. "I cannot speak for any other man, but it has been over five years for me."

Her jaw tried to fall against her chest. "What about the previous years?"

He cleared his throat. "I... slowly lost the desire to act upon my... needs... in that way." He kept his hands on her shoulders to keep from doing something nervous, something that would keep them from recovering the earlier mood. "I reckon it was my body coming into agreement with my heart – whereas my mind required something more to admit the truth. And for my pride to be humbled enough," he added on a heavy exhale.

Beatrice tried to wrap her mind around this. It was incredible and very singular, but perhaps more proof that they were an excellent match in all respects. "And you have left it all behind forever?"

He let his fingers drift slowly up her shoulders. "I will live in thy heart..."

She shivered, her eyes flickering down briefly to his arms.

His fingers ever so gently stroked her throat toward her jaw. "...die in thy lap..."

Her gaze was held captive by the intensity in his.

He cupped her face with infinite tenderness as he leaned in. "...and be buried in thy eyes."

Beatrice's breath grew a bit louder, her control weakening every moment.

Benedick's control finally snapped. He pressed his lips to hers, stopping both their mouths.

Her hands drifted to touch his back, and the soft action drew a groan from his body. The vibrations made her moan in answer, and his hands lowered to find how to remove the dress from her body. He intended to go slow, but as more of her skin became available to touch and her hands grew bolder in where they touched, what was left of his restraint became a distant memory.

The passion that nearly spilled into public the night before flowed freely between them. They were in a locked chamber together, and they were married. It was only natural now, and that did not account for the years of pent-up feelings igniting into a wildfire. And as more skin-to-skin contact was possible, additional kindling was thrown into the maelstrom.

Neither dared break the frantic kiss. Neither dared to not let at least one hand be touching the other. It seemed like they would wake from a dream if either of them did. As difficult as it was for them to sit on the bed without parting, they managed by moving ever so slowly.

It also heightened the sensations, lengthened the caresses. All of which sent them further down the spiraling path toward the inevitable.

Neither noticed that her hair was still done up as they slowly adjusted to lying – with him on top. After the night before, Beatrice had no objections to being 'trapped' – for he was as helpless against their shared love as she was. Again, making them equals even with her innocence in the actual practice.

He had to try to control himself – the next moment could hurt her, and he wanted desperately to avoid that if he could. He moved slightly, hoping to not alarm her with the impending change about to happen.

But she was overcome with passion and could not bear even a hint of teasing. She reached down to gently caress him.

He broke the kiss. "Beatrice!" he gasped.

"I cannot wait," she pleaded. "Can you, Benedick?"

No, he could not. So as their eyes locked, he propped himself on one arm so he could slide a caressing hand down her trembling body.

She moaned as he stroked her skin, and tried to guide him closer. Now, she mouthed, now!

He nodded, braced himself to see a bit of pain in her expression, and claimed her maidenhood.

She expected at least some discomfort, but along with that was something that had been hinted at by some of the married women in her uncle's house – that which could only happen when you loved your husband. But before she could marvel at the feeling of becoming one being, she lost control over her body as wild moans escaped her.

He had not anticipated that her body would be instantly receptive because of the passion. He followed her into the spiraling ecstasy of a heaven that he had not imagined could exist in this world.

Their minds slowly lifted themselves out of the warm, delightful haze. Still joined, they recovered their breath. His face rested against her neck, his arms unable to hold any of his weight. Her hands gently stroked his hair and his back, drawing the occasional shiver from his body – which felt unspeakably wonderful to hers. She beamed, and whispered, "We just made the beast with two backs."

He let out an amused snort. He was no longer surprised she was aware of some of the ways soldiers talked – who knew what she had listened to without anyone knowing as she grew? "Yet one more way we are excellent at together."

They managed to tighten their embrace, and yet not move from their position. When they could think again, they would see what they would do next, but neither expected to move from the bed until the morning. Another round might be in the cards for them.

Parting for anything other than dealing with the realities of their mortal lives seemed a cruel thought. And they needed each other's strength to see through the morning – no matter what had been decided in their absence.

Although they did have to part very slightly. As they did, Beatrice flinched.

Benedick cringed. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." She started laughing as she turned her head to show the clips she had forgotten to remove. Both had forgotten that Beatrice's hair was not ready for bed.

But being them, they burst into laughter about their oversight. He rolled them to their sides so she could free her hair. Which took a while since she had trouble keeping her fingers steady and he did not want to accidentally make any of her hair come out.

At last, Beatrice put all the pins and clips aside. As soon as she did, Benedick's free hand instantly began running slowly through her hair. She looked at him curiously.

His whole being gave off the air of hopefulness being restrained. "May we... began again?"

She grinned and moved to trap him to the bed. If the way his eyes widened was an indication, he was delighted to see her gaining confidence. Of course the next step was to begin in a new way.

The first of many new ways, they hoped.


	11. Sigh No More, Ladies (Reprise)

**Author's Note**: And so concludes my first MAAN story. I suspect there will be at least two more... eventually. :D

A big thanks to my betas for the story: **tardis_mole**, for critical reminders about behaviour and spelling errors that have come down because of poor translations/transcriptions; **cassikat** for pointing out things that wouldn't be obvious to someone who hadn't seen the performance (as she hasn't); and **bas_math_girl** for confirming that I hit all the important notes from the performance. You all awesome! *glomping hug*

And another birthday wish to sykira. Sorry for the delay, but Benedick and Beatrice _insisted_ on one extra scene added before the final one.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Sigh No More, Ladies (Reprise)**

It was daylight. A knock sounded from the newly married couple's chamber door, disturbing them from their comfortable embrace that promised more. Benedick grumbled as he reached for trousers to cover himself with, and helped Beatrice keep herself covered.

He opened the door to find Maria – in a black dress and wearing a veil – holding feminine clothing. "For the Lady Beatrice, suiting the dress that your uncle has decreed for the day." She entered when Benedick silently motioned her inside. "You are asked to come to the church by 12 o'clock, as Claudio has completed the penance imposed after you departed, and invited to break your fast at your uncle's." She carefully placed them over an unoccupied chair, and the shoes on the floor as she spoke. "We are all to learn the Lady Hero's decision. Will you both come as presently as possible?"

Beatrice blushed, for she had clean forgotten that she needed clothing for the morning. She nodded thanks, which Maria wordlessly accepted before departing.

The couple shared a frustrated look.

Far sooner than either liked, they were nearly dressed. If they spent some time sharing a bath or helping each other dress, that was theirs and theirs alone to know. He buttoned his jacket while she placed her veil properly on her head, securing it in case of any rapid movements – not impossible, knowing her. She was leaving her shoes – heels, alas – for last.

Benedick checked the time and sighed. He had intended to spend much more of the morning in bed with his wife, but duty got in the way. Now he had a new reason to silently curse Claudio for listening to a man he had to know was not to be trusted.

Which reminded him, he had to still devise punishments for Don John. Perhaps Beatrice would like to give him ideas. Well, he could put that off a while yet.

Beatrice noticed his frustration. She had to smile at him. "I am sure we may find a way to depart early."

He lost his frown, mostly. "Do not tease me. I am already tempted enough to make our uncle quite displeased with us."

She laughed. "As soon as the important events pass, shall I make our excuses? I am sure we can claim we have waited long enough to start our life together. I certainly will need your influence to secure access to what is mine." She could not suppress her bitterness.

Benedick walked over, and gently tugged her around and into a hug. "He cannot deny us access any longer, I promise."

She nodded tightly, exhaling against him as she returned the hug. She might still be under the legal authority of a man, but no more would she deal with her uncle's rule. Now any deference was merely because he was her uncle, not because he had guardianship over her and she had to watch her actions. Shaking off the reminder, she drew back slightly to kiss him briefly, in gratitude and relief.

Well, she meant it to be brief. Trouble was that the night before had not been enough to resolve the passion nearly unleashed where it did not belong, and they were ready to completely ignore their obligations.

Only a bell tower chiming in the distance broke their moment. They panted as they parted, although she kept her hands hovering over his chest – just in case she needed the balance.

Beatrice blushed, quickly thinking of something to distract them both and let them recover their composure. Luckily, she found it quickly. "I pray you... what made you choose to... let go of our merry war? To accept your love for me?"

Benedick managed a tiny smile, even as his flush increased. "It was by chance. I overheard the prince, Claudio and your uncle speaking of you. Hero had told your uncle and Claudio that you loved me."

She gasped, pulling away slightly.

He froze. "What?"

She shook her head. "I never spoke of it to Hero. She said that she thinks I cannot love!"

Benedick's face widened. "Then... they were... deceived? And yet spoke the truth unknowing?"

Beatrice stiffened as a horrible thought came to her. "Did you speak of your feelings to anyone?"

He shook his head, hard. "No! Until I overheard them, I knew not my own heart. And I was too filled with my thoughts and what I could do. I could barely speak of it to you."

Her mouth fell, then snapped shut before she spoke. "I had kept my love so tightly within that it burst forward when Margaret told me my cousin and Ursula were talking of me. I overheard them say that you love me, that Hero had it from the prince and Claudio."

His eyes narrowed. "They deceived us," he breathed in realisation. "They did this to entertain themselves at our expence!"

Beatrice's hands twitched. "I knew I was not well-respected in my uncle's house, but I had not thought my cousin capable of such."

Benedick suddenly panicked and checked his desk, refiling through his papers.

"What, do you think they went through our things?!"

"I... I tried to write a sonnet for you, forgot to throw it out because it was awful. I cannot put it past Claudio to have found it." He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. "And it _is_ missing!"

Beatrice gasped. "O I did the same! My cousin could have found mine!"

They shared an appalled look, trying to figure out what to do.

Benedick soon straightened, exhaling sharply. "Well, we can make them return them – if we are right and they did take them. There are stories I believe young Claudio would rather I not mention before an assembly. I know how to ask the question such that he won't be able to lie."

Beatrice found a smile over her husband's devious streak, and felt free to let her own out. "Then I suppose Hero would prefer I not speak of some of the things she said about Claudio before we learned that the action was over."

They shared a pleased nod, and he checked his watch. "Shall we?"

The need to ensure their privacy and to stop any further meddling was inducement enough. The wish to get the day over with was another.

/=/=/=/=/

They were all again assembled in the room used as the church and for the celebrations. This time, the dress was black. Margaret sat numbly by her mother, forced to stand aside from the events as part of her penance for not seeing the evidence that Borachio was not to be trusted. She had expected a long punishment, but she had been stunned upon waking – her lady hugged her, and forgave her. Thus Leonato and Innogen had not lectured her beyond a caution.

Her parents had been another story. Margaret was grateful that she was not required to admit the details of what little she did remember of that night. Borachio had not been willing to speak of it, which was a relief beyond measure. Proof he had a little honour left in him, despite his villainy.

In the nearly empty row in front of her sat Benedick. The absence of Don John made a markedly different effect on the room, he felt. But he would not sit alone for much longer. Beatrice would be beside him today, not in front of him.

He was merely waiting for Claudio and the prince to arrive, which would permit the remaining ladies to walk in – thus beginning the moment that would decide Claudio's future. He sighed unhappily, wishing once again that he could have remained in bed with his wife a while longer – or that they had been in her father's house.

No, he corrected himself, _our_ house now. The man I may be, but she knows more about the habits and traditions.

Today they might have the time to start the process of taking control... together. Depending on how the moments ahead went.

Don Pedro entered calmly, regally. Claudio stumbled in behind him. Benedick scowled. Ah, so the rumours – which reached his ears when he and Beatrice broke their fast – that the Count had slipped into drinking last night out of guilt were true. Foolish man. He had hoped the young man had enough sense to learn his lesson after drinking had led him into this moment.

"Good morrow," Don Pedro proclaimed, "to this fair assembly." He hoped his title and presence would quell any talk about Claudio's appearance. Years of discipline kept his thoughts from showing. He was still surprised that his own weight, imposed by Leonato, had proved extremely light – if rather mortifying – and was ready to put this all behind him.

"Good morrow, prince," Leonato greeted, standing with an ease. "Good morrow, Claudio. We here attend you. Are you yet prepared to face Hero and hear her decision?"

Even hung-over, Claudio managed to straighten slightly as he paused in his efforts to reach Don Pedro's side. "I am."

"Go you, Innogen, call her forth."

As Innogen left the room in a calm manner, Benedick's eyes watched the men standing up front. The friar stood in his black frocks, reading over his material for the day. Leonato sat at ready, prepared to handle whatever came forward. Don Pedro meanwhile quietly admonished Claudio to pull himself together.

It was a sobering thought to Benedick that had he not listened to the instinct to go and seek Beatrice the night before last, he might not have realised just how much war actually went on in homes and families – especially within Leonato's. His own behaviour yesterday was proof enough – Benedick could not imagine not knowing your own child well enough to know when she was being slandered, let alone believing others over your own blood without _just_ cause. Therefore he might not have interfered on Hero's behalf yesterday and thus a deception might have been necessary to permit today to happen. He also might only now be asking the friar and Leonato about being married to Beatrice. He thanked god for whatever had convinced him to push aside his concerns – he would not trade his life now for anything.

Well, perhaps the chance to do that one day over again. But what was done was done.

The wedding march began as Innogen rushed with grace back into the room. The assembly stood, and then three ladies – all dressed in black and wearing veils – slowly walked in to the music. He knew who the three were: Maria in the front, Hero behind her, and Beatrice at her cousin's side, trailing slightly.

Claudio stiffened. A march playing meant one of two things. Either he was already forgiven, or – and this was perhaps more likely given the insistence on all black today – he was being set up to possibly be rejected by Hero. His gaze lowered to his feet. It would be her right, his soul told him. She would not be wrong to choose to wait for a man who treated her like Benedick treated her cousin. Shame once again overcame him completely.

The ladies kept their gazes just a few feet ahead of them, not chancing meeting anyone's eyes. It was best to see if they could keep Claudio guessing a bit longer. Beatrice's eyes raised for a quick look, and noticed the clear signs of a hangover in the Count. She then felt that they would likely succeed.

As the music faded to nothing, Claudio's eyes scanned the ladies. He was confused, and now regretting drinking straight from a bottle of tequila – which Don Pedro had remonstrated him for at length since finding him with it last night. Never mind the handgun, which he'd carried out of guilt and had a thought of using. Until Don Pedro appeared, which was more than enough to frighten him out of it. "Soft and fair, friar, which is Hero?"

Benedick's lips quirked. He could imagine being confused from drinking, but he knew which lady each was. Not a chance he would be confused about which was Beatrice after having lain with her and helped her dress.

Indeed, it seemed even more unlikely that anyone would be fooled without drinking. Maria was shorter than her lady, and Beatrice had a fuller figure that even the modest dress she wore could not conceal. Drunkenness completely explained how Claudio and Don Pedro had been fooled by Don John and Borachio.

Leonato held up a hand. "If your wisdom cannot determine that, then you must speak to them all until Hero chooses to unmask herself. _If_ she chooses."

That had been a hard argument for Benedick to pull off. As Hero was wronged, the one whose reputation was nearly murdered, it ought to be her choice to whether forgive Claudio or no. The governor had finally been persuaded with moments to spare before they had to set out for this assembly.

Claudio understood the implication. It was all up to his now limited ability with words. He knelt before the ladies, looking down at the ground under their feet. "Sweet Hero, my judgment failed me. I listened to one I knew should not have been trusted when I ought to have trusted you. If you can forgive me and give me your hand before this holy friar, I am your husband and servant if you like of me."

Silence reigned for a long moment. All witnesses wondered whether his contrite words would be believed.

Then Hero tapped her companions' arms. They stepped quietly back as she stepped forward, slowly moving her veil behind her head. "You then believe with your soul that I speak the truth when I say that as sure as I live, I am a maiden?"

His voice nearly failed him, and he could not meet her eyes. "I know it now completely."

She motioned for him to stand, which he slowly did – still unable to look at her. She took a slow step forward, drawing his eyes up. He opened his mouth to speak, but could not form words nor did he know what he would have said if he could. But she hugged him, drawing him out of his shock.

He was immensely relieved. She had forgiven him. Moments later, they parted enough to lock lips.

Don Pedro watched them. One day, Claudio would be able to stand taller for this. Hero might prove to be his making as a man, if she was that determined to stand with him after how he treated her and yet demand his respect. Conduct on the battlefield was after all only part of a man's worth.

Leonato turned toward Benedick. "Nephew, are you satisfied with the reports of Claudio's penance and with Hero's forgiveness toward him?"

Benedick took a deep breath. It was his cue to stand and walk over to Claudio, who reluctantly broke the embrace with Hero to face him, taking a few steps to meet him.

The two men faced off silently for a few seconds. Then Benedick spoke evenly. "I did think to have beaten thee, Claudio. But in that thou are to be my kinsman," he patted his about-to-be cousin's shoulder and briefly – lightly – tugged on Claudio's thin tie as a silent rebuke over his appearance, "live unbruised." But he belied the words with a slap to Claudio's cheek.

Claudio exclaimed incoherently, recoiling from the waist up. Okay, he unquestionably deserved that.

Hero flinched, but Beatrice grinned behind her veil.

Benedick pointed at him in warning. "And love my cousin!"

The younger man could not keep silent, nor restrain his irritation at losing the fun of the sport over the deception that plainly permitted Benedick's marriage to happen. "I find myself disappointed that all was so clean for you yesterday. I had well hoped for the opportunity to cudgel thee out of thy single life to make thee a double-dealer."

Benedick raised a finger to silence the rant. "Come, come," he tightly warned, "we're friends." The two patted each other on the shoulders, tacitly accepting that peace had been restored between them.

Although Benedick and Beatrice each now knew with certainty that there had been a plot to trick them. Therefore their plans would have to wait for the reception.

With that, the assembly began to seat themselves again. Benedick returned to his seat, and was pleased that Beatrice had unveiled and come next to him – in spite of who had been seated there the previous day. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, glad for the nearness they could freely indulge in now. "Man is a giddy thing," he muttered to her, speaking of many things with that one statement, but especially the odd wit that their friends had drawn on them.

"Are you content, then?" she whispered back.

He smiled softly at her, tightening his one-armed embrace. "This is my conclusion," he said proudly.

She beamed at him, leaning in and wrapping her arm around his waist. She took the hand dangling from her shoulder in hers and tucked her head against his shoulder to watch her cousin finally be wed.

Behind them, Ursula exchanged a happy smile with her downcast daughter. Even as shamed as Margaret was, she could not help but be thrilled at the sweet picture before her.

Long moments later, when the room was cheering and exiting as the celebrations began, Benedick and Beatrice held back a moment – walking slowly so they could speak without being overheard. "How long, Sweet Beatrice, must we remain in obligation to our family?"

She sighed unhappily. "Until our cousins depart for the night. You have not heard that Hero has asked us to sing?"

His eyes widened as he looked at her. "She is serious?!"

She nodded grimly. "But," she added with a hint of a smile, "I do have an idea that does suit us." At his inquiring look, she whispered her song choice in his ear, pulling back with a smirk. "Would that not be fitting, if we are not released from it after asking for our sonnets back?"

He had to grin. "I think I can forget that the last time I heard that song, I was recovering from the reveling." He lowered his arm to take her hand. "Come, let us complete this early so that we may dance."

Beatrice's squeal went unnoticed by the others – not that she would have cared. She pointed at her shoes. "These are being left behind at our table," she informed him.

He laughed. "Then you won't care if I leave this," he fingered his jacket, "over my chair?"

Her laughter joined his as they strolled out, swaying a bit to the music that Balthazar was playing on the speakers nearby. Hero's request was just one little stop on the path to the rest of their lives together. They would make it through as they would everything else: as partners.

Whether dancing or just living, they stood now as one.

As it ought to have always been. As it now would be forevermore.

THE END


End file.
